


Protection

by agentmoppet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 21:44:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 56,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4365272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmoppet/pseuds/agentmoppet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the months after Voldemort's death, Draco Malfoy comes to live with Harry Potter under witness protection. But Draco seems somehow different, and Harry is determined to find out why and whether it is going to mean anything different for their relationship. Meanwhile, it seems the Golden Trio might have missed Voldemort's true goal for the Deathly Hallows. DRARRY, SLASH, EWE, HPDM, RWHG</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Protection

**I've copied this ~~painstakingly~~ over from Fanfiction.net, so if you see an obvious mistake that I missed when moving it chapter by chapter, please let me know!!**

 

**Chapter One**

 

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Those were the first words Harry Potter heard Draco Malfoy utter when he entered Interrogation Room A at the Ministry of Magic. Then Draco saw Harry, and he stopped speaking.

“Mr Potter,” Kingsley Shacklebot said by way of greeting, standing up and indicating the seat next to Malfoy. “Take a seat.”

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who was steadfastedly ignoring him, and took the seat.

Kingsley sat back down at his place on the other side of the table. “Mr Malfoy,” he said, clearly resuming a conversation that had begun before Harry entered the room. “I am afraid we have not yet retrieved all the names. Perhaps with the help of Mr Potter, this may be the last time.” He said this kindly, although it was plain to Harry that Kingsley did not believe it.

“Can’t Potter look by himself?” Malfoy asked after a pause. Harry glanced at him and saw that Malfoy’s face was as close to pleading as he’d ever seen. A thin sheen of sweat covered his face, and his skin was even paler than usual.

“What am I looking at?” Harry asked Kingsley. The Pensieve in the middle of the table was giving him a few ideas, but since the terse summons he had received this morning had given no explanation, the details were a mystery. And why was Malfoy here?

Kingsley turned to him. “While the Ministry has had extreme success in identifying the majority of Death Eaters thanks to people like Mr. Malfoy here.” Malfoy smirked without humor. “There are several still at large.”

Harry frowned. He didn’t see how he fitted into the picture.

“He wants you to put names to faces, Potter,” Malfoy interjected with a sneer, although his words and voice sounded merely tired. “And since my family played host to a few little Death Eater parties over the last months, where better place to start?”

That explained why Mr Weasley had said he had seen Malfoy walking in and out of the Ministry over the last few weeks, even though his parents were in Azkaban awaiting trial.

“In answer to your question, Mr Malfoy,” Kingsley said. “The more times and ways in which you view a memory, the more likely you are to find a link to another memory. If you can remember even one other time that you saw these Death Eaters, it may lead to the discovery of their names.”

Harry noticed that although Kingsley was remaining kind, there appeared to be no real sympathy in his voice. He had wondered whether Malfoy would go on trial, like the other Death Eaters, or whether his age might earn him some leniency. Looking at the scene now, he may have leniency, but Harry wasn’t sure it would last.

“OK, let’s do it,” Harry said, suddenly keen to get this over with.

Malfoy grimaced, and without further warning, quickly leaned over the Pensieve. Kingsley motioned for Harry to follow, and then there was that familiar tugging sensation and the three of them were standing in Malfoy Manor.

"Crucio!” Malfoy yelled.

Harry jumped back and fumbled for his wand, before realising that it was memory Malfoy, not real Malfoy, casting the Unforgivable.

He turned to look at the real Malfoy, who was smirking at him like he was a complete idiot.

If Harry hadn’t seen the sheen of sweat on his face back in the interrogation room, he might have missed the fear behind Malfoy’s arrogant expression.

Harry turned back to the scene in front of him.

“Mr Potter,” Kingsley asked quietly. “In the past, when you have been linked with You Know Who, has he ever spoken to or named these men?”

Harry tried to look around the room, to take in the faces of the people sitting at the long dining table, but he found himself drawn to Malfoy instead. Both Malfoys looked sick and afraid, but the Malfoy of the present wasn’t trying to hide it anymore.

“Very good, Draco.”

It had been months since Harry had heard that sibilant voice, and even knowing its speaker was long dead it still made him stiffen in fear.

Memory Malfoy dropped his wand, relinquishing his victim with too much haste. His relief was too obvious.

Harry looked at Voldemort and saw that he had seen it too. Expected it, even. With a jolt of shock, he realised that was exactly why Malfoy was the one to be casting the curse, despite the many Death Eaters in the room. Voldemort was toying with him.

“Now finish it,” Voldemort continued, his eyes lit with something too cruel to be called amusement.

Harry watched memory Malfoy blanch and lift his wand.

“Do you recognise anyone?” Kingsley prompted, looking all too aware of what was going on in Harry’s mind.

Harry drew his attention back to the Death Eaters at the table. He shook his head. It was rare that the visions Voldemort had given him showed anyone he could recognise. Only in the graveyard had he been able to name anyone, and those names were no longer any use to the Ministry.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Harry jumped, and turned back at the flash of green light hitting the man on the floor.

Memory Malfoy stood, open mouthed in shock. His wand rested by his side.

“Narcissa,” Voldemort said, curiosity in his voice. It reminded Harry of a cat who had just been bitten by a mouse.

Narcissa Malfoy stood, her wand still raised and pointed at the man on the floor. Her eyes were wild, and Harry had to look away from the intensity of emotion he saw in them.

Voldemort made a small motion with his hand. A Death Eater who looked vaguely familiar stood up, and before Harry knew what was happening, Narcissa was lying on the ground screaming.

Memory Malfoy twitched, but made no other movement.

The room dissolved, although Harry wasn’t sure that the vision of Narcissa Malfoy being Crucio’d on their dining floor would ever leave his mind.

This time they were in a sitting room, similar to the one Harry, Hermione and Ron had been held when Draco had chosen not to identify them.

There were only a couple of Death Eaters in the room this time. Voldemort wasn’t there.

Harry didn’t look at Malfoy.

“The Dark Lord requires further use of your hospitality,” a slimy Death Eater was saying to Lucius.

The corners of Lucius’ mouth lifted up into what must have been meant as a smile. “As the Dark Lord pleases,” Lucius said, standing up in a clear dismissal.

The Death Eater smirked and stayed seated. “The East Wing is to be prepared for his purposes by tomorrow night.”

Lucius inclined his head, the half smile still on his face.

The Death Eater finally stood up. “See that it is done.”

Harry felt Kingsley looking at him. “I don’t know any of them,” he said, somehow feeling like he was letting Kingsley and Malfoy down. “I’m not sure if I’m going to recognise anyone. When I saw him, or through his eyes, Voldemort never really spoke to anyone by name.”

He heard Malfoy make a noise, presumably derisive. He turned, ready to insult Malfoy, when he realised that Malfoy wasn’t looking at him.

Turning back to the scene, he saw that memory Malfoy had just entered from where he must have been lurking outside the doors. His face was pinched and haggard, but he seemed determined about something.

Narcissa looked up at him in alarm, but before she could say anything, Malfoy spoke.

“Is there no better location for the Dark Lord’s headquarters?” he said. Harry thought he heard a small tremor behind the words. “Malfoy Manor is hardly a discrete place for the Dark Lord’s activities. Everyone knows us. We are easily watched.”

Another Death Eater stood up and sneered. “You would turn down such an esteemed honor, boy?”

Malfoy paled, but said nothing.

“I am sure the Dark Lord has ways of avoiding unnecessary attention,” Narcissa interjected smoothly. “Don’t let it trouble you, Draco.”

Draco’s jaw stiffened, and he gave a curt nod before stepping back to let the Death Eaters exit past him. Narcissa lingered behind a moment. Although they were already moving on to the next memory, Harry heard her whisper to Draco.

“Now is not the time for foolish bravery.”

If that was bravery, Harry thought it was a pretty pathetic attempt. As the scene dissolved completely and the next one took its place, he shot another glance at Malfoy and gave a small start when he saw how weary he looked. He wondered how many times Malfoy had already been forced to go through these memories, and what he could possibly be expected to suddenly remember on each subsequent revisit.

The next few memories showed no one that Harry could identify, and they were forced to leave with no new information.

“The rest of Mr Malfoy’s memories show the same people, or ones we have already identified,” Kingsley explained when they were back at the Ministry. “So there is no point showing you those memories if you are absolutely sure you haven’t seen those men before.”

Harry shook his head. There was one Death Eater that he thought he might have seen that hadn’t already been named by the Ministry, but he didn’t think looking at any more of Malfoy’s memories would aid his own, and quite frankly he’d had enough of the Pensieve for one day.

“So be it,” Kingsley said with a nod before turning back to Malfoy. “You are safe to return to the Manor for tonight, Mr Malfoy,” he said. “But tomorrow we will have to make our final preparations for your move.”

“Where’s he going?” Harry asked before he could stop himself.

Malfoy turned to him, lip curled. “ _He_ doesn’t think it’s any of your business, Potter,” he spat.

Before Harry could shoot something equally spiteful back, Kingsley interrupted. “Mr Malfoy is under witness protection,” he explained under Malfoy’s indignant glare. “The Malfoy Manor is too easily located to be a safe haven for a whistle blower.”

Protection, just like Harry’s parents. Because that worked so well last time.

Harry frowned. “So, what, he’ll go somewhere where there is a secret keeper?”

Kingsley nodded, although Harry caught something like hesitation in his expression.

“The Ministry is having trouble tracking down someone willing to protect a Death Eater,” Malfoy added, his voice thick with cynicism.

Kingsley frowned. “There are several people willing and suitable to play host to someone as valuable to the Ministry as Mr Malfoy, but we need to make sure they pass the appropriate tests.”

At Harry’s look of confusion, he elaborated. “Tests to make sure they are both trustworthy and able to bear the weight of Secret Keeper.”

If Harry’s parents hadn’t been able to find someone trustworthy enough, Harry doubted that Malfoy would.

A memory flashed, unbidden, into Harry’s mind. Lying on the damp forest floor, Narcissa Malfoy’s hair brushing over his face as she whispered in his ear. Her voice, crying “He is dead!”

“He can stay with me,” Harry said before he had time to reconsider.

Malfoy shot him an incredulous glare. “With you? What the hell makes you think I’d stay with you, Potter? I’d rather be kidnapped by rogue Death Eaters than be subject to your stupid face every day.”

Kingsley coughed quietly. “That would be a good solution, at least for the interim.”

“You can’t be serious?” Malfoy said, his gaze turning beseechingly to Kingsley. “What happened to the ‘several people’ you had on standby?”

“The longer we have to confirm their suitability as Secret Keeper, the better it will be for you. Mr Potter is already Secret Keeper of his house, since Miss Granger very cleverly resolved the previous issue,” he smiled wryly. “And he would be in just as much danger by revealing his location as you would be. You’re certain, Mr Potter?” He looked at Harry, his eyes serious.

Harry nodded. “I’m sure.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Malfoy yelped, a hysterical note finding its way into his tone as he sat upright in his chair. “You can’t make me go with him.”

“We can make you do anything we please, Mr Malfoy.” Kingsley’s voice had taken on a warning tone. “But we would prefer you make your own decisions.”

Malfoy took the hint and shut his mouth, making no more protests.

“If that’s settled then?” Kingsley looked at the two of them questioningly.

Harry nodded.

“Done,” Kingsley said with a smile.

 

**Chapter Two**

 

Draco threw his bag down in the hallway of number twelve and a half Grimmauld place and looked around with distaste.

“When you offered to have me stay, I was expecting a home, Potter. Not a hovel.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry snapped, already beginning to regret his decision. “If you hate it that much, you’ve got your own bloody ancestors to thank.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him. Behind the arrogant gesture was curiosity, which Harry had to admit he never would have noticed if he wasn’t making a particular effort to be nice to Malfoy. He gave a mental sigh and fought down the urge to say something spiteful.

“This house belonged to the Black family,” he explained, leading Malfoy up the stairs to the bedrooms. He noticed Malfoy picked up his bag and followed. “Your mother’s cousin, Sirius Black, grew up here.” Although several years had passed since Sirius’ death and it was no longer raw, it still hurt to speak of him.

There was silence behind him. Clearly, Malfoy was unimpressed with the history. He turned around and saw Malfoy looking at him expectantly.

“And you have it because…?” Malfoy said finally.

Harry blinked. He was so used to people tiptoeing around the topic of Sirius with him that he forgot Malfoy probably didn’t even know.

“Sirius was my godfather,” he said shortly, turning back around and continuing his climb. “He left me the house when he died.”

Silence. He didn’t bother turning around. When they reached the landing he waved absently down the hall. “Take any room you like,” he said. “Except this one. That’s mine.”

Malfoy still hadn’t said anything. Harry looked up at him in exasperation. Malfoy was watching him curiously.

“Didn’t know you had any family,” he said finally. “Guess you don’t, now.” He smirked and walked off down the hall, choosing the bedroom furthest from Harry’s.

Harry watched him, stunned that someone could be that much of an arse, before kicking open his bedroom door and storming inside, away from Malfoy.

He shut the door behind him and kicked off his shoes. He pulled his robes over his head and threw them on the floor. He had needed to dress properly for the Ministry, but now that he was home he preferred to be able to wear Muggle clothes. He decided that the jeans he had been wearing beneath his robes were clean enough, but the shirt was probably a bit old. Rummaging through his drawers he found a clean t-shirt and headed back into the corridor toward the bathroom and found Malfoy, obviously with the same idea.

He grunted, while Malfoy just grinned.

“Guests first, Potter,” he said with a laugh, and walked quickly into the bathroom.

Harry turned around in disgust, regretting for the second time in ten minutes his decision to open his home to Malfoy, and headed downstairs to see if Kreacher was cooking. The kitchen was empty, so he assumed Kreacher must be cleaning elsewhere in the house, and set to making a cup of tea.

He was only halfway through his drink when he heard Malfoy yell down the stairs.

“Potter!”

Harry gritted his teeth and yelled back. “What?”

“Your linen cupboard makes no sense!”

“What the hell are you talking about? There’s no linen cupboard in the bathroom!”

“Exactly. How am I meant to get a towel?”

Harry took a slow, deep breath. “No one’s up there. Just walk out into the hall. The linen cupboard is opposite the bathroom,” he called back.

“What?! And drip on the carpet? It’ll go moldy!”

“It’s my bloody house, Malfoy! I don’t care if it goes moldy!”

“Well that’s just perfect, isn’t it? You inherit my ancestral house and you don’t even care enough to look after it.” Harry couldn’t decide if Malfoy was serious or just set on annoying him in every way possible for as long as they were doomed to live together.

“Fine!” Harry yelled back. “Hang on.”

He stomped up the stairs and pulled open the linen cupboard. Grabbing a towel he turned around and kicked open the bathroom door.

Malfoy yelped.

Harry threw the towel in at waist height without looking and turned back to the stairs, taking smug delight at what he mentally chalked up as one score in his favour.

Ten minutes later, Malfoy entered the kitchen, looking relaxed in black tracksuit pants and a black t-shirt, toweling his hair. Harry blinked in surprise, realising that he had never seen Malfoy in Muggle clothes before. If he had been told to guess, he would have said Malfoy didn’t own any.

“Your transparent attempts to perve on me are pathetic, Potter,” Malfoy said with a smirk. “You need to get over your schoolgirl obsession.”

Harry reminded himself that he owed Narcissa Malfoy a life debt, took several deep breaths, and counted to ten.

“Tea, Malfoy?” he asked politely.

Malfoy looked taken aback, before nodding. “I’ll make it,” he said curtly. “Where are the teabags?”

“Cupboard above the kettle,” Harry answered, flicking open the Daily Prophet. It was more of the usual. News on the rebuilding efforts, interviews with Ministry officials, and the latest captured Death Eaters. It was a shame that the latter was mainly additional news on Death Eaters who had already been caught. New captures were dwindling.

After a few moments he realised that Malfoy was swearing quietly under his breath. Turning around, he saw him struggling with the teabag, hitting it with his wand.

Harry frowned before realising what was going on. He laughed and stood up, walking over to the bench.

“They’re Muggle teabags,” he explained, opening the packet for Malfoy and dropping the sachet into a mug.

Malfoy glared at the teabag like it had personally insulted him. “What’s the point in that?” he muttered furiously.

“Well, technically they’re quicker to use than magical teabags,” Harry offered pragmatically. “There really is no point in a teabag jumping through the air to dive artistically into a mug of water.”

“Fun to watch though,” Malfoy said, casting a wry glance at Harry. Then he seemed to suddenly remember that he hated Harry, and resumed glaring at the wall in front of him.

Harry sat back down at the table, running his hands through his hair and mentally added a third stroke on the tally of regretting his offer to share his living space with Malfoy.

Surprisingly, Malfoy didn’t take the tea back up to his room, but sat opposite Harry at the table. Harry cast a glance up at him, but he was staring out the kitchen window. Harry wondered what it would be like to live with Malfoy if they were friends. If the relaxed comment that Malfoy had just let slip was anything to go by, it was possible for Malfoy to have a friendly conversation with someone, which was something that Harry would have refused to believe if anyone had suggested to him. For the first time it occurred to him that Malfoy’s friends might actually like him, instead of simply being too stupid to figure out anything else to do with their time. He studied Malfoy over the top of the Daily Prophet, wondering what there could possibly be to like about Malfoy.

“Really, Potter, this is just sad,” Malfoy drawled. “It would never work between us.”

Harry abandoned his pretense and put the newspaper down. “Why aren’t you staying with Goyle or Parkinson?” he asked, the thought suddenly popping into his head.

Malfoy’s head whipped around, and the look in his eyes told Harry that he had just asked something very stupid indeed.

“Goyle is in Azkaban,” he said tightly. “And Parkinson’s family would never house a blood-traitor.”

“Is that what you are?” Harry asked.

“I’m selling pureblood families to the Ministry,” he answered, his chin lifted slightly into the air. “What do you think?”

Harry considered this. It probably explained why no other Slytherin families were housing him, which was his next question. “So, why are you doing it then?” he asked.

Malfoy seemed to take a deep breath, something Harry had been doing a lot of in the last hour. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Harry laughed. He couldn’t help it. Before he could consider taking it back, Malfoy had jumped up from the table and stormed out of the room.

Harry let him go. The stupid git had done enough damage under Voldemort’s hand for Harry to worry about his precious feelings. He had just picked up the Prophet again when Kreacher popped into the room with a crack.

“Master’s friends are here to see him,” he said with a bow, his locket bouncing off his bare chest with the movement. Harry made a mental note to look into what form of coverings he could give for Kreacher’s torso without it being an offering of clothes, and stood up.

“Thank you, Kreacher,” he said with a smile. “Are they in the living room?”

Kreacher nodded and began bustling about at the benches, presumably preparing lunch.

“Oh, Kreacher?” Harry said, turning back when he reached the doorway. “We have a guest for the next little while, Draco Malfoy. Please treat him, er,” Harry thought about how he would like Malfoy to be treated, and how he should be treated as a guest in Harry’s home. “As you would a permanent resident,” he finished lamely, having used up all the manners he could for Malfoy in the word “guest”.

Kreacher’s eyes widened. “Narcissa Malfoy’s son?” he asked.

Harry nodded. Kreacher’s eyes took on a gleam of excitement that Harry hadn’t seen since he gave Kreacher Regulus’ locket.

“Kreacher will care for Malfoy as he cares for Master,” he nodded emphatically.

Harry wasn’t quite sure that was the arrangement he had asked for, but it would do. He waved his thanks to Kreacher and headed into the living room.

“I think I’ve come down with a sudden case of mumblemumps,” Ron said earnestly when Harry entered the room. He began patting his face and ears frantically, checking for swelling. “I could have sworn you just said Malfoy was staying with you.”

Harry sat down on the sofa with a grin. As much as he was already keen to throw Malfoy out into the street, it was almost worth it for Ron’s reaction. “He is.”

Ron’s jaw went slack. He garbled unintelligibly for several moments, before Hermione patted him kindly on the back and took over. “I’m sure Harry has a good explanation,” she offered, although she looked concerned.

“He’s under witness protection, but no one will have him,” Harry explained.

Ron snorted. “So you got lumped with him, did you? Nice reward for the Boy Who Died To Save Us.”

There was an element of spite in Ron’s tone that had nothing to do with Malfoy. Even after he had explained it to them, Harry’s sacrifice was still a sore point between the three of them. Ron understood in theory that Harry had been given no choice, but it still rattled him that Harry had accepted it without discussion. And Hermione was hurt that he had gone without saying goodbye.

Harry sighed. “I offered,” he said. Suddenly, Ron’s incredulity at Malfoy living with him no longer seemed funny.

Ron wrinkled his nose. “You offered to live with that git? Blimey, Harry, that’s twisted. If you were getting bored you should have just said. We could’ve played chess or something.”

Harry stifled a laugh despite himself. “I didn’t offer because I was bored, or to make things interesting. I think I’ve had enough ‘interesting’ to last me for the rest of my life. I offered because,” he paused. Ron and Hermione both knew what Narcissa Malfoy had done for him, although they were the only ones who did. But he somehow felt like they wouldn’t understand why it made him feel obligated to do this. And he didn’t want to hear their protests. He felt like by protesting they would make his offer seem worthless. “I need his help,” he finished.

Hermione looked suspicious. “Help with what?” she asked, while Ron was busy gaping like a fish.

“We’re trying to identify the remaining Death Eaters,” Harry said honestly. “So we need to spend time going through each-others’ memories, trying to fill in the gaps,” he continued smoothly into a lie.

“Malfoy’s memories? Yuk.” Ron made a face.

Hermione looked fascinated. “So you’re using a Pensieve?” she asked. “Can I see? It would be really interesting to build a proper picture of the war from both sides.”

“Hermione!” Ron gaped at her. “You can’t be serious. It’s not interesting. It’s disgusting! Not only does Harry have to share his house with that slimy git, he’s got to share his thoughts.” Ron turned back to Harry with a solemn expression. “I’m here for you, mate,” he said in a hushed tone.

Harry rather felt like someone must have died. He had an absurd desire to offer his condolences.

“If it gets too much, let me know,” Ron went on. “I’ll sort him out.”

Harry buried the image of a slug deep in his mind and made a supreme effort not to laugh. “Thanks, mate,” he said in as serious a tone as he could manage. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Hermione snorted rudely. Harry looked at her in surprise until he realized that she looked just as shocked. Turning around, he saw Malfoy in the doorway, sneering.

“Sorry to break up the party,” he said, leaning against the archway. He no longer looked relaxed in his Muggle clothing. He looked tense and out of place. “I need Potter.”

“I’m sorry, Malfoy, I just don’t feel that way about you,” Harry said solemnly, unable to resist the urge to get one back.

Ron snorted while Malfoy’s lip curled even further.

“Touching,” he said. “I need to know where I can put my things.”

Harry frowned. “Isn’t your room big enough?” Malfoy had only brought a small bag with him. Surely the room was adequate.

“Not even close,” Malfoy grinned.

Harry sighed, reminding himself that he had asked for this. Pushed for it, even. “How much room do you need?” he asked.

Malfoy pretended to consider. “Well, there’s my potions cabinet, my bookshelves, my guitar, my-”

“Geez, Malfoy,” Ron interrupted with a glare. “You’re only temporary, don’t forget. You’re lucky you’ve even got a room. If it was me, I’d give you a bloody cupboard.”

Malfoy sneered. “Nice, Weasley. Real _good_ of you. I’m pleased to see that the side of fairness and forgiveness won the war.”

“You don’t deserve forgiveness, Malfoy you little-”

“Oi,” Harry interrupted. “You’re in my house, mate. Give it a rest.”

Three sets of eyes stared at him in shock.

“Take your pick of any of the rooms,” Harry said to Malfoy, ignoring Ron and Hermione. “I’m not using them.”

Malfoy watched him for a few seconds before nodding and turning around.

“Where’s all your stuff?” Harry called after him.

“House elves are sending it,” Malfoy yelled back before taking the stairs two at a time to pick his second room.

“So, you’re sharing your space, you’re sharing your thoughts, and we have to be nice to him?” Ron said with an incredulous look on his face. “You’ve lost it.”

Hermione shoved him gently. “I think it’s wonderful,” she said with a smile, although her eyes still seemed hesitant. “If Harry and Malfoy can get along, just think what it could do for wizarding relations after the war.”

Ron and Harry both rolled their eyes.

“Whatever, ‘Mione,” Ron said. “Just don’t make me go out for tea with Goyle. It’s bad enough I saved his life without having to be reminded of it. I might have a change of heart.”

“So how are you two, then?” Harry asked, taking the opportunity to steer the conversation away from Malfoy.

He instantly wished he hadn’t, as both Ron and Hermione looked suddenly very uncomfortable.

“Well,” Ron began.

“Really good!” Hermione said, her voice slightly higher than usual.

Harry had a split second of heart failure, where he thought they must be breaking up and he would be forced to choose between his two best friends.

“We’re going on a holiday!” Ron burst out suddenly, grinning.

“A what?” Harry asked.

“You know, we’re going to have fun,” Ron said, still smiling. “That strange thing normal people do when they’re not killing dark wizards.”

“Oh, that,” Harry said weakly. “Right.”

“We won’t be gone long!” Hermione said in a rush. “Only six, maybe eight-“

“Weeks?!” Harry said, shocked that he would be unable to talk to his best friends for so long.

“Months,” she finished with an apologetic grimace. “We’ll write to you, though, every day!”

“Well, maybe not every day,” Ron said wrinkling his nose. “But there’s bound to be fires in some of the places we stay. So we can Floo you sometimes, too.”

“Right. Brilliant,” Harry said, suddenly wishing very much that the two of them had already left.

“We’re leaving tonight,” Hermione said with a weak smile.

He took it back.

“We were talking about it, and then decided to just do it,” Ron said with a grin.

“How’d you get the money?” Harry asked, fighting to hold onto something logical.

“Hermione’s parents gave her a graduation present,” Ron said excitedly. “We’ve got tons of dolls to spend!”

“Dollars,” Hermione corrected patiently. “And we don’t have that much, but with the exchange rate at the moment, it’s enough to get a decent holiday to start with, and we can work along the way.”

She seemed to run out of things to say. They both looked a little wary, but they seemed so happy that he couldn’t stay upset.

“I’m thrilled for you,” he said with a genuine smile. “You’ll have a great time.”

Hermione jumped over the coffee table to hug him. “Oh, we wish you could come, Harry!”

“Hey!” Ron interjected, looking worried. “Not that we don’t wish you could come,” he assured Harry quickly. “We just, you know, don’t want you to be there.”

Harry laughed. “It’s okay, I get it. You guys have fun. Write to me when you can.”

Ron clapped him on the back and they both stood up, ready to go.

“Tell us how it goes with Malfoy,” Ron said quietly, looking meaningfully at the ceiling. “Hope you don’t kill each other in the time we’re gone.” He looked thoughtful. “Well, I hope you’re quicker than he is anyway.”

“Ron!” Hermione smacked him, and they stepped over to the fireplace. “Oh, Harry?” She turned back, looking suddenly concerned. “Be careful. I know we tested the charms on this place, but I’m still not convinced I did a good enough job to trick anyone who might come looking, particularly if Malfoy has angered half the remaining Death Eaters.”

Harry laughed. “You did a perfect job, Hermione. Don’t worry.”

Hermione’s frown deepened. “You will be careful, won’t you? You’ll check the charms every morning?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Harry said, giving her a push toward the fireplace. “Although there’s nothing to check. You picked the whole house up and moved it a metre to the left, fence and all. It’s a completely new address, ergo, completely new Secret for the Secret Keeper. Stop worrying.”

Hermione looked like she was about to argue further, so Harry steered her gently but firmly to the fireplace and handed Ron the Floo powder.

“See you in a few months,” Ron said with a wave.

Harry waved them off. When the green light disappeared from the fireplace, he sat back down and stared at the wall, wondering how on earth he was going to stay sane with only Malfoy and Kreacher for company.

 

**Chapter Three**

 

**Disclaimer: Memories in this chapter contain quotes from Deathly Hallows, as they are events from the book rather than my own writing.**

 

“Dinner is ready, kind Master,” Kreacher’s voice came from behind the door.

Harry sat up from where he had been leaning over his model quidditch set – great for setting up strategies and then seeing the numerous ways they could go terribly wrong – and stretched. When Ron and Hermione had left, he had shut himself in his room, hoping that Malfoy would take a hint and keep to himself. It felt ridiculous, hiding in his room in a house that he was used to being completely empty, but he supposed he would have to get used to it.

Malfoy was already at the table when he came downstairs. He nodded to Harry with something bordering on civility, and then ruined it by speaking. “So how often am I going to be graced with the presence of the Weasel and the Mudblood?” he asked airily. “A shame though it will be to miss their charming faces, I think I may have to schedule in something a touch more riveting, like my laundry.”

“I said give it a rest, Malfoy,” Harry said, sitting down. “That goes for you too. Don’t use that word about Hermione, and would it kill you to say Ron’s name?”

Malfoy gave a fake shudder. “I’ll settle for ‘the Weasley’, and hope for the best.”

Harry lifted the soup ladle from the large bowl in the middle and served himself. It smelled delicious. “Besides,” he said, passing the ladle to Malfoy. “You’ll probably never have to see them again. They’re going on holiday for half a year, and by then you probably won’t be here anymore.”

Malfoy’s mouth twitched, like he was fighting back a smirk. “One way or another,” he said airily, and served himself soup.

Kreacher hurried around them, bringing buttered bread rolls with thick slices of ham and cheese.

“I was thinking,” Harry said after a while.

“Must be a new experience,” Malfoy quipped instantly.

Harry ignored him. “Maybe it would be worth us working together at home on those memories, and trying to locate the last few Death Eaters? Then you can go home quicker.”

Malfoy stopped eating, his spoon paused halfway to his mouth, and stared at him. “I hate to break it to you, Potter,” he said after a pause. “But those memories aren’t exactly a stroll by the lake for me. I’d rather not spend the precious hours I have away from the Ministry knee deep in more of them, with – no offence – the Boy Who Didn’t Know When To Quit by my side. You’re not the hero anymore, Potter. You’ve done your bit. Give it up.”

Harry glared at him. “You don’t just ‘give up’ doing the right thing,” he argued. “And we don’t have to look at your memories.”

“Oh?” Malfoy sneered. “Which other Death Eater did you have in mind?”

“We could look at mine,” Harry replied calmly, refusing to take the bait.

Malfoy looked surprised for a second. “What would yours show?” His tone, for the first time, sounded more curious than spiteful.

“Different things seen from Voldemort’s perspective,” Harry said, taking a bite from his roll.

Malfoy hesitated. He seemed to be warring with curiosity and some unnamed reticence to accept Harry’s offer. Harry had a sudden thought.

“They’re not as confronting as your memories,” he offered casually, as if he were merely making conversation. “Mainly he was just getting angry at people, but he rarely tortured them while I was linked with him. At the time I wasn’t really paying attention to anything beyond Voldemort, but you might recognize someone in there.”

Malfoy nodded slowly. “And I might get home quicker,” he repeated Harry’s words. That seemed to do it for him. He looked up at Harry and nodded again, firmly. “I have a Pensieve upstairs.”

“Of course you do,” Harry said, laughing despite himself. He had heard Malfoy arranging furniture all afternoon. It sounded like he had half a house worth of possessions in the upstairs rooms now.

Malfoy’s lip quirked in what Harry thought might have been a smile, but stiffened again quickly before he could be sure.

“Can we let the food settle before we start?” He asked. His tone was casual, but behind it, Harry heard something that reminded him of the kind of memories Malfoy was anticipating.

“Sure,” he said easily, and went back to his soup.

Malfoy wrinkled his nose and look sideways at the ground, as if looking for something. He stood up and went into the larder.

As he did, the kitchen door burst open.

“Harry, did you hear?” Ginny ran over to give him a hug. “Eight months! Can you believe it? While the rest of us clean up the mess. It’s typical of Ron, isn’t it? Going off on some massive holiday while everything is still settling.”

Harry laughed and returned her hug. Ginny never bothered to announce herself to Kreacher. It was only Hermione who was polite enough to consider that he might be in a state unready to receive guests. Ginny and her brother just burst in like family, which, in a way, he preferred.

“Well, I think they’ve earned it,” he said diplomatically.

Ginny’s eyes turned suddenly serious. “Eight months, Harry,” she said with a warning tone. “A lot can happen in eight months. Have you told them yet?”

Harry shook his head. He understood that he should probably tell them soon, but he hadn’t found the right moment yet. Besides, it was his news to tell, if he wanted to at all. There was no protocol to dictate a timeline. Given the single-minded focus of the last seven years, he found it strange to consider a situation where he would need to tell them.

“Harry, you have to tell them! Not because they need to know – it wouldn’t matter if they never knew - but because it’s something that you need to be comfortable with in yourself-”

“Hey!” Harry yelled, interrupting her. He had suddenly remembered Malfoy in the larder. “Ginny, speaking of things I have to tell people, Malfoy is staying with me.”

“What?” Ginny’s eyes went wide.

On cue, Malfoy strolled out of the larder with a large pepper shaker. He nodded in her general direction without looking at her, before proceeding to douse his soup so completely in pepper that it looked more like mushroom soup than potato and leek.

“Oh... kay,” Ginny said slowly. “Why not, I guess.” She turned Harry. “Why not? Or, more to the point, why? Why the hell is Malfoy living with you?”

Harry sighed and gave her the same explanation he had given Ron and Hermione. Technically not a lie anymore, Harry noticed that Malfoy still picked up on his omissions, glancing up at Harry suspiciously. Thankfully, he chose not to correct them.

“Well, that’s nice,” Ginny said with a smile. She seemed to be taking the same approach as Hermione. Which, given her past history with the Malfoy family, was considerably more admirable. Maybe it did bode well for wizarding relations. “I’m sorry, Harry, but I have to go,” she said, looking genuinely apologetic at leaving him with Malfoy, as if he wasn’t going to be stuck with him for half a year anyway. “I just came by to see if, well, to see. You, that is. I’ll see you later.”

Harry grinned at her as she fumbled her way through an excuse that could rival one of Ron’s, and stood up to see her to the fireplace.

“You should find a way to tell them, Harry,” she whispered, as she took a handful of the Floo powder sitting on the mantelpiece.

“Not with several thousand kilometres between us,” Harry replied. “That wouldn’t work well for anyone. I’ll tell them when they get back. Maybe.”

Ginny made a concerned face at him, but seemed to accept it. She leaned up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, before throwing the powder in and going home to The Burrow.

Harry went back to the kitchen.

“Trouble in paradise?” Malfoy asked with false manners.

“Huh?” Harry asked.

“You and the Weaslette,” Malfoy said.

Under Harry’s stern glare, he amended his statement to “you and the second Weasley.”

“None whatsoever,” Harry replied, figuring that was the best he was going to get from Malfoy. “We aren’t dating.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

To Harry’s horror, he felt himself blushing. But he’d be damned if he told Malfoy before he told his best friends.

“What were you looking for when you got the pepper?” he asked, remembering Malfoy looking down at the ground.

“Checking for Kreacher,” he said, sipping a large spoonful of his liquid pepper in apparent enjoyment.

Harry frowned.

“Didn’t want to hurt his feelings by getting the pepper,” Malfoy explained. “It tastes good, I just like a lot of spice.”

Harry stared at Malfoy, his jaw feeling comically light.

“What?” Malfoy said when he spotted the look. “I’m allowed to have a favourite house elf. It just so happens you only have one, so I’m rather limited in my choices.”

Harry shook his head slowly and went back to his food.

About an hour after lunch, they met in the room that Malfoy had set up for everything that wouldn’t fit in his bedroom. Harry felt briefly like he had stepped into another world. The curtains were drawn, thick black velvet blocking out the sun so that the potion sitting on the table beneath the window could simmer uninhibited by sunlight. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with a collection that would make Hermione jealous, but that looked positively boring to Harry.

A chest hovered in the middle of the room, in front of a table and two chairs that had already been there. Its latches looked suspiciously like teeth. When they entered, it scuttled off to the side and was still. Harry watched it cautiously, and decided to sit on the chair that was facing it.

Malfoy sat opposite him and tapped his wand lightly on the Pensieve in the middle of the table. The liquid rippled and was clear.

“After you, Potter,” Malfoy said. If he was apprehensive, he wasn’t showing it.

Harry thought for a second, before lifting his wand to his head and slowly drawing a small tendril of silver free. He let it fall into the Pensieve and leaned forward, trusting Malfoy to follow.

In a few seconds they were standing in a dark room. Harry was immediately filled with the violent rage he remembered so clearly. He looked around the room, and realized he was looking through Voldemort’s eyes again. It was as if Voldemort were still alive. The room was filled a strange, dark, red haze. Someone was screaming.

With shock he realized it was Malfoy. Not memory Malfoy, who wasn’t in this memory, but real Malfoy. Harry quickly grabbed hold of Malfoy’s arm and pulled them free.

Back in the room, Malfoy sat huddled over the table, shuddering.

“Was that some kind of joke, Potter?” Malfoy gritted his teeth and glared up at Harry. His face was deathly white.

Harry wasn’t feeling so good himself. That hadn’t been like a normal Pensieve memory, like watching a movie. He had relived that as it had happened the first time. But it didn’t explain why Malfoy was so shaken.

“I’m not sure what happened,” Harry retorted, rubbing his scar absentmindedly. “It was like I was reliving the memory instead of watching it. Except you were there.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, reliving it? It was like that the first time?”

Harry frowned in confusion. “Well, yeah. Why?”

Malfoy leant his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. “I should have realized,” he muttered. “You can be forgiven, since you’re an idiot, but I should have known better.”

“Known what?” Harry snapped.

“That was one of The Dark Lord’s memories, correct?” Malfoy asked without opening his eyes.

“That was one of _Voldemort’s_ memories, yeah,” Harry said.

Malfoy opened his eyes. “Well, that’s just it. It wasn’t technically your memory. It was his. You didn’t experience it the way you experience normal memories. It was sensory and abstract. So the only way to live it is sensorial and abstract. That’s why it felt like we were looking through The Dark Lord’s eyes, but also like we had a physical presence and could see each other.” He took a deep breath and shut his eyes again. “I might need a minute before we go back.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He continued to rub his scar, which was tingling with remembered pain.

“Was it always like that?” Malfoy asked quietly.

“Like what?” Harry asked, leaning back with a sigh.

“The anger.”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Harry looked up to see Malfoy watching him. “You ready?” he asked.

This time they were more prepared, but it was still no use. Malfoy thought he might recognize one or two of the Death Eaters, but he couldn’t remember where he had seen them. And as much as he didn’t like to admit it, it was obvious that Malfoy had trouble staying in Voldemort’s memories for very long.

Back in Malfoy’s sitting room, Harry and Malfoy sat in silence.

“So, you really pissed him off,” Malfoy said after a while.

That surprised a laugh out of Harry. When he looked up, he saw that Malfoy was looking at him with a strange expression. Almost rueful.

“Oh, there’s more,” Harry said, remembering the last few of Voldemort’s visions. He drew his wand to his head and brought the final memory into the Pensieve.

He saw Malfoy stiffen next to him as they materialised into this new memory. Malfoy Manor came into shape around them, and Harry looked down on his own swollen face as he lay huddled on the carpet.

“Hate to break it to you, but I’ve seen this one,” Malfoy said drily.

“Not quite,” Harry muttered.

The memory shifted, and they were filled again with rage and fury. A skeletal man lay on the floor of a shadowy cell.

“ _So you have come. I thought you would … one day. But your journey was pointless. I never had it.”_

“ _You lie!”_

Harry felt his own voice snarl the words as the scene dissolved again. Next to him, Malfoy was clutching his throat in shock, while the Harry on the ground seemed to be fighting the urge not to faint.

“He’s by himself for a few minutes,” Harry said to Malfoy. “It’s more the next memory I was after, but they’re kind of linked. He was so angry over the weeks between now and the memory I’m after, that it’s kind of hard to separate his visions clearly.”

Malfoy nodded, but didn’t turn to him. Harry turned to see what he was looking at, and saw Lucius enter the room. Looking back at Malfoy, he was surprised to see something like distaste cross his expression for a fraction of a second. So quickly you could miss it.

“Well, Draco?” Lucius said. “Is it? Is it Harry Potter?”

The memory blurred into a haze of red.

“What else did you take?” Bellatrix screamed through the mist. “Answer me! Crucio!”

Harry knew that by this point, he and Ron were down in the cellar, but the mist did not fade to show the scenery. The intensity of emotion he could feel through his link with Voldemort was overpowering their experience in the Pensieve. Time was moving too fast.

“ _Kill me then, Voldemort, I welcome death! But my death will not bring you what you seek … there is so much you do not understand …”_

Hermione screamed, loud and long. He felt Ron next to him, pounding on the cellar door, but he could see nothing. He couldn’t even see Malfoy anymore.

“ _Kill me, then! You will not win, you cannot win! That wand will never, ever be yours -”_ a flash of green light, and the scene dissolved.

He was standing by the sea, holding Dobby in his arms. Malfoy made a noise beside him. Turning to him, Harry saw he looked shocked.

“Dobby?” Malfoy said, his face pale.

Harry had forgotten that he had been Malfoy’s house elf. He wondered if Lucius had ever told him where Dobby had gone. Given his pride, probably not.

The memory faded in a faint haze of anger, dulled in comparison to what they had experienced so far, and they were on another beach by a lake.

Memory Harry doubled over in pain, and the haze of anger built.

“ _What did they take?”_

“ _A … a s-small golden c-cup m-my Lord …”_

A scream of rage and denial rent the air, forcing Harry and Malfoy to their knees in shock and pain. In front of them a goblin was struck down in a flash of blinding, green light. Wizards scrambled over each other to get away from the deadly scene unfolding before them. Lucius and Bellatrix made it out, throwing others behind them as shields. Several others escaped, but most were killed.

Harry grabbed Malfoy’s arm and threw them both out of the Pensieve.

 

**Chapter Four**

 

 

They both lay in their chairs, eyes wide and frantic. Malfoy had his head in his hands, shuddering, while Harry felt as though lying on the ground might be the only thing that would stop the world spinning.

“That wasn’t quite how I remembered it,” Malfoy said after a long pause where they both slowly ceased shaking.

“Sorry,” Harry said quietly. “I - I think they’re worse the second time around.”

“Makes sense,” Malfoy said. “Without the physical pain of your connection to distract you, you’re left with only The Dark Lord’s emotions, which are a little intense.” He drew his head up from his hands slowly. “There was a man who could probably have benefited from a few anger management classes.”

Harry snorted. He looked at the floor, and wondered if Malfoy would let him live it down if he just lay there for a while. Looking up, he saw that Malfoy appeared to be contemplating the same thing.

“Firewhisky?” Harry suggested.

“Finally, you have something intelligent to contribute,” Malfoy said, standing up. “Lead the way.”

Harry poured them two glasses at the kitchen table and sat down. Malfoy sat down and knocked his back in one shot. Harry shrugged and followed suit before pouring two more.

“I forgot Dobby was yours,” Harry said when he was feeling considerably warmer and more sensible. Comparatively.

Malfoy looked at him shrewdly. “Yeah. Was. Do I want an explanation?”

“Probably not.”

Malfoy shrugged. “I liked him. I’m sorry he died.” He knocked back his second glass.

“Luna spoke beautifully at his funeral.”

Malfoy spat Firewhisky all over the table. “She what?”

Harry burst out laughing. After a second, Malfoy joined in. Harry knew it was the aftermath of shock coupled with the whisky, but it was still strangely enjoyable, laughing with Malfoy.

“I never said thanks, did I?” Harry said suddenly.

Malfoy frowned at him. “For what?”

“For not identifying us back there. Well, for not identifying me, and for being as vague as you could about Ron and Hermione given it would be ridiculous if you didn’t recognise them.”

Malfoy shrugged.

“Your father really wanted you to identify us,” he pushed, watching Malfoy closely.

It was only a flicker, but same angry look crossed Malfoy’s face again, but he said nothing. It didn’t make sense. Malfoy had been just as vocal about Voldemort’s reign as Lucius. And he’d tried to Crucio Harry himself, so it could hardly have been compassion that stopped him from turning them all in.

“Well, thanks,” Harry said finally.

“You’re welcome, Savior,” Malfoy said sarcastically. He leaned forward and poured them each another glass.

“So, I promised you that my memories wouldn’t be as harsh as yours, and they turned out to be worse,” Harry said with a wry smile, knocking back his third glass. Or was it his fifth?

Malfoy waved his hand dismissively. “Hardly, Potter. I just haven’t had time to get used to yours.”

“Doesn’t seem like there’s any point getting used to them. They were useless.”

“Who said they were useless?” Malfoy said, looking up at him suddenly. His eyes were glazed slightly from the drink, and his relaxed lean on the table made him look almost coy.

Harry blinked. Malfoy’s words penetrated the drunken fog that was his brain. “What do you mean?” he asked, fighting to keep from slurring his words.

“Well, amongst the escaping wizards who my charming father beat to the door,” Malfoy’s lip twitched again in distaste. “There was one face who I recall from non Death Eater activities.”

“Who?” Harry asked excitedly.

Malfoy sprawled his fingers lazily along the table. “Twilfitt.”

“Bless you.”

“No, you idiot,” Malfoy drawled. “Twilfitt, as in Twilfitt and Tatting’s. Clothing shop, Diagon Alley.”

Harry stared at him blankly.

“Nothing? You peasant. Fantastic robes there. My mother goes there all the time.”

Harry snorted. Malfoy lobbed the Firewhisky lid at him. It missed by two metres.

“Hmm,” Malfoy muttered, looking carefully at the bottle. He seemed to make a decision, and poured them two more glasses.

“Well, we have a name for Shacklebot, then,” Harry said, grinning and swallowing his Firewhisky. For some inexplicable reason, it seemed to end up mostly down his shirt front. He looked up to see if Malfoy had noticed, but Malfoy appeared to be too busy inspecting the table with his face.

“I think I might go take a shower,” Harry said, and stood up abruptly.

Malfoy shot up into a sitting position. “Hang on!” he said. “There was something else.”

Harry sat back down. Staring up, bewildered, at the table, he made a readjustment and sat on the seat.

“There was something really important,” Malfoy continued, staring seriously at his glass as if it could tell him the answer. “Oh, yes!” He smacked his hand down on the table. “Who was the man in the cell and what did Voldemort want with him?”

“Voldemort?” Harry repeated. “You said Voldemort.”

Malfoy waved him away impatiently. “Who was he?”

“Um,” Harry focused very carefully. “Grindelwald,” he said, feeling a surge of success at pronouncing the correct syllables. “Voldemort wanted the Elder Wand.”

“Right.” Malfoy nodded. “Because right before he killed him, Voldemort cast Leglimens. I wouldn’t expect someone as utterly useless at Occlumency as you to realise it - Snape told me all about how utterly, utterly pathetic you are, really, Potter, why can’t you grasp such a simple concept - but the evidence was there.”

Harry frowned. “Why didn’t I see it in the vision then?”

“Well,” Malfoy speculated, waving his glass around for emphasis. “While The Dark Lord seemed unable to stop you entering his thoughts when his emotions were at their highest and he was at his most vulnerable, he was hardly going to make the same mistake while he was performing such a complex skill as Occlumency.”

“Fine,” Harry waved a hand dismissively. “Why do I care? He’s dead. I have the Elder wand. Well, not literally, but figuratively… in terms of ownership anyway… more like I’m fostering the Elder wand…”

“You have the Elder Wand?” Malfoy interrupted with a frown.

“You were there!” Harry exclaimed. “You were pivotal!” He thought for a moment. “ _You_ had the Elder wand for a while!”

“I had the Elder Wand?” Malfoy’s brow furrowed in deep concern. “What’s the Elder Wand?”

“Oh geez.” Harry dropped his head on the table. “Why was this important?”

“Oh, it wasn’t that important,” Malfoy said with another wave of his hand. “I just wanted to point out how terrible you are at Occlumency. Months of private study, and you couldn’t even detect that he was performing it. Shame on you, Potter.”

Harry let out a groan and stood up again.

“Wait!” Malfoy stuck a hand in the air feebly. “Take me with you!”

“To the shower? You’re sick, Malfoy.”

“No, not to the shower, you idiot. To bed.”

“Christ, Malfoy, I really didn’t need that image.”

“Shut up, Potter. Take me upstairs. I can’t move and I need to lie down.”

Harry snorted. “I’m not carrying you upstairs. Lie down on the floor.”

“Fine, you leave me no choice.” Malfoy produced his wand with a flourish. He stared at it for a couple of seconds before turning it the right way around.

“Alright, alright!” Harry said hastily. “Grab onto my shoulders.”

He hoisted Malfoy up onto his shoulders and together they navigated the stairs. It was only when Harry was at the top that he realised he could have called for Kreacher.

He gritted his teeth and propelled Malfoy down the corridor at something between a run and a slide, and deposited him on his bed.

“Mphks, Motter,”

“Pardon?”

Malfoy lifted his head from the pillow. “Thanks, Potter.”

“Welcome,” Harry muttered, before dragging himself out to the shower.

When he had sobered up a little under the water, it occurred to him that something had changed in Malfoy. More than the fact that they were able to be civil now - friendly, even - there was something different about him. Morbid curiosity necessitated that Harry find out what that was. However, since it seemed somehow related to Lucius, Harry wasn’t sure how he could tactfully broach the topic when Lucius could be given the Dementor’s Kiss at any second.

Malfoy didn’t emerge until dinner time, and when he did Harry couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he had bothered.

“You look terrible,” Harry said.

“I’m still drunk. What’s your excuse?” Malfoy snapped, dropping into a chair.

Kreacher popped into the kitchen with a crack and began to serve casserole from a large dish floating along behind him.

“Have you owled Shacklebot yet?” Harry asked, prodding experimentally at his serving.

Malfoy shook his head, then winced at the movement. He took a deep breath, shoved his fingers in his ears, and whistled for his owl.

The elegant screech owl flew in the open kitchen window from her perch in the owlery outside. Harry felt a sharp twinge as he thought of Hedwig and looked away.

Malfoy scratched out a brief message, tied it to his owl’s leg, and sent her away. He began to eat tentatively.

“So I was thinking,” Harry said.

Malfoy dropped his fork and glared at him. “What were you thinking?” he asked dangerously.

Harry grinned. “Nothing like last time, don’t worry.”

Malfoy sniffed delicately and turned back to his food.

Harry prodded his food again, decided to wait, and continued speaking. “What are you doing apart from helping the Ministry?”

Malfoy frowned. “I’m under house arrest. I’m not doing much of anything.”

“Witness protection,” Harry corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Malfoy’s raised eyebrow indicated exactly what he thought of that difference.

“I wondered if you wanted to help me with something,” Harry said.

Malfoy scoffed. “Unless that ‘something’ involves a rabid pile of Blast-Ended Skrewts and your vulnerable extremities, I doubt it.”

Harry hadn’t expected much better. Unfortunately, with Ron gone, he had little choice. “I think you might change your mind if you hear what it is,” he said lightly.

Malfoy looked up at him, suspicion warring with curiosity. “What is it?” he said finally.

“I want to play quidditch,” Harry said.

Malfoy frowned. “We’re five players and league too short, Potter.”

“Just to practice,” Harry corrected. He took a mouthful of food and was pleased that it didn’t make queasy.

“What, you want a willing victim to run into the dust, do you?” Malfoy said, his voice bitter. “Nice try.”

Harry fought back a smile at the memory of how many games Slytherin had lost to Gryffindor. “That’d be nice, but no. I’ve been reading about training techniques you can do as a Seeker. But you usually need two Seekers to do them. I was going to ask Ron, although he’s a terrible Seeker-” Malfoy snorted. “But he’s gone now, so…” he trailed off.

Malfoy lifted his chin and smirked. “You mean you’ve never done a proper Seekers’ run before? What on earth were they teaching you in Gryffindor, Potter?”

Harry bit his tongue to avoid starting a fight. It wasn’t worth it. Besides, he could see Malfoy was interested.

“How exactly were you planning on doing this and still keeping me hidden?” Malfoy asked.

Harry had been thinking about that. “The three of us - me, Ron and Hermione - cast a lot of protection spells last year,” he explained. “And they worked pretty well. Well enough to keep away Voldemort. Since no one is going to be looking for you with me, I think that we could use a nearby oval. The area is a bit larger than I’m used to, but there’s no reason why it shouldn’t work.”

Malfoy watched him as he spoke. He seemed to be struggling with something. But all he said when Harry stopped speaking was “fine.”

“What, that’s it?” Harry pressed. “You’re not keen? You can’t have played quidditch for at least as long as me. Longer, since you didn’t even play in sixth year.”

Malfoy sneered. “Of course I want to play quidditch. I don’t particularly want to play with you, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Before he could say anything, an owl flew in through the kitchen window.

“That was quick,” Malfoy said.

Harry shook his head. “Nah, it’s from Ginny.” He read the message quickly and suppressed a shudder. Ginny’s careful wording quite clearly left him no choice. “You’re on your own tonight, Malfoy. I’m going out. Don’t destroy anything.”

Malfoy smirked. “What was that about not dating the Weasle-” he stopped himself at Harry’s look. “The second Weasley?”

Harry laughed. If Malfoy knew where he was going, he wouldn’t be so cocky. Harry considered telling him just to see the look on his face.

“I’m not,” he said instead. He shot a glance at the clock above the kitchen sink and realised that Ginny had planned her message so that he had very little time to think about it. She would be arriving in less than ten minutes. Harry swore. At least he’d already showered. He considered what he was wearing and decided that Ginny would never let him leave in it, and it was a far better option to change his own clothes than to have Ginny select them for him. “Ginny’ll be here any minute,” he said, standing up. “Be nice. I’ll be back in a sec.”

“Got to do your make-up, hey, Potter?”

Harry paused in the doorway, looking back at Malfoy. Had he imagined it, or was there a hint of bitterness in his tone? Malfoy ignored him, so he marched upstairs to change.

 

**Chapter Five**

 

“You better be wearing something nice!” Harry heard Ginny yell up the stairs. “You’ve got thirty seconds until I’m coming up there.”

Harry looked down at the black jeans and sneakers dubiously. They’d do fine, but he couldn’t decide on a shirt. He knew which one Ginny would pick - the white collared shirt with conspicuously too few buttons. He quickly threw on the other, blue shirt and opened the door.

Ginny grinned at him. “Go on, let’s see,” she said with a smile that Harry was convinced was pure evil. “Do a twirl for us.”

“Go on, Potter, do a twirl!” Malfoy yelled from the kitchen.

“Eat dirt, Malfoy!” Harry yelled back. He held his arms out to his side in a half shrug, half presentation. “It’ll do, right?” he asked Ginny.

Ginny leaned around him and looked into the room. She spotted the white shirt on the bed. “No, it will not do,” she said, exasperated. “How do you think you’re going to meet anyone looking like you’re going grocery shopping?”

Harry felt vaguely insulted, although she was probably right.

Ginny threw the white shirt at him. “Change,” she ordered.

Harry sighed and changed shirts, while Ginny examined his quidditch board.

“Better?” he asked, with a wry smile.

“Much.” she beamed at him. “Let’s go.” She linked his arm through hers and lead him down to the fireplace.

Harry caught a brief glance of Malfoy through the kitchen doorway, watching them curiously, before Ginny yelled their goodbyes, threw the powder into the fireplace and told the fire the address.

“Christ, Ginny, where did you find this one?” Harry asked, looking around desperately at the strobe lighting and floor length mirrors. _Gusto’s_ was written on every surface.

“Brilliant, isn’t it?” she yelled back happily over the music.

“Er,” Harry muttered.

Ginny pulled him over to the bar before he could answer. “Two Firewhisky’s, thanks,” she said.

“Make that one Firewhisky and a Spiced Mead,” Harry corrected. “Don’t ask,” he muttered to Ginny when she looked at him questioningly.

They perched on bar stools to have their drinks and surveyed the area.

“So, why are we here?” Harry asked.

“You know why we’re here,” Ginny said through narrowed eyes.

“Yes, but why _now_?” Harry amended.

Ginny waved a hand. “If you’re going to get anywhere close to coming out by the time Rom and Hermione come home, you’re going to need some proper incentive. Besides,” she added, looking at him sideways. “I thought that if you were going to do it, I could do it, too, and we could get it over with together.”

Harry suddenly felt a wave of guilt. He leaned over and squeezed her hand. “If you want to tell your family, just say so. We’ll do it together. Whenever you’re ready.”

Ginny squeezed back and smiled at him. “It’s okay,” she said. “I don’t mind waiting. But it would be nice if we both found someone, wouldn’t it?”

Harry found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he could love her as more than a sister. But then, unless she loved him as more than a brother it wouldn’t really solve anything, would it? Ginny was streets ahead of him in accepting her future, having already dated a couple of girls, although it never worked out. But dating someone and telling Molly Weasley that Ginny was unlikely to ever give her grandchildren were too totally separate things. Harry could understand why she wanted his support when it happened.

A man in his early twenties caught Harry’s eye. He nodded his head at the dance floor and looked back at Harry, questioningly.

Before Harry could think of a way to Apparate without looking like a coward, Ginny shoved him forward. He looked back at her beseechingly, but she immediately started flirting with the woman next to her.

If he didn’t man up, he was going to end up ruining Ginny’s night. He turned back to the dance-floor and found the man waiting for him. Harry found himself very thankful for the strobe lighting that made it impossible to see how much of a terrible dancer he was, and joined the man on the floor.

“I’m Joe,” the man said, swinging his hips closer to Harry so that they were suddenly dancing up against each other.

Harry fought the urge to jump back, told himself he was doing this for Ginny’s sake - and, okay, maybe a little for himself - and went with it.

“Harry,” Harry replied, touching his forehead surreptitiously to make sure the glamour that hid his scar was still in place.

He glanced over at Ginny and saw that she was already snogging the pretty girl she had been talking to. Harry stifled a laugh and turned back to Joe. Joe saw where he was looking and grinned.

“They’ve got the right idea,” he suggested, draping an arm across Harry and slowing his movements down so that Harry was forced to join him. Harry had to admit, feeling Joe press against him, it did seem like a pretty good idea.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry was sure it probably had been a good idea, but something had gone terribly wrong along the way and he was suddenly, inextricably, in too deep.

He looked around frantically for Ginny, leaning around Joe, who was currently preoccupied with Harry’s neck. There was nothing especially wrong with this preoccupation, but something was telling Harry to get out. Now.

He caught Ginny’s eye as she was exchanging phone numbers and mouthed “Help!”

Even across the floor, he could see her roll her eyes. The girl she was with stood up to leave - she was obviously part of a large group that was moving on - and Ginny came over. She pulled out her wand and Harry watched her cast a quick confundus charm. He felt Joe slide away from him, dazed, and made a break for it.

“Thanks!” he breathed when they were safely on the other side of the room.

She looked at him and shook her head. “What was wrong with him?” she asked. “He looked nice enough.”

Harry shrugged. Ginny seemed to realise that he didn’t want to talk about it, and didn’t push the issue.

They stayed until late, although he noticed that Ginny didn’t leave him along again. They danced as a group with a few people, but although it wasn’t a bad night, Harry was glad when it was over.

“Sorry you had a bad time,” Ginny said to him quietly as they made to leave.

“I didn’t,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I just didn’t really want to be with any of these guys. Like you say, I want to meet someone. Being with people like this is like meeting a brick wall with lips.”

Ginny laughed. “I guess you’re right.”

“No, you’re right,” Harry said, smiling at her. “This was a good idea. It showed me what you’ve been saying all along: I do want to meet someone.”

She beamed at him. “Really?” She gave him a quick hug. “I’ll pick somewhere better next time, I promise.”

Ginny left first, for the Burrow, before Harry Floo’d home to Grimmauld place.

He was surprised to see Malfoy still up, reading in the living room when he arrived.

“Good night?” he asked without looking up.

Harry grunted noncommittally.

“I thought Gusto’s was a gay bar,” Malfoy said conversationally.

Harry started, and then remembered that Malfoy would have heard when Ginny said the address into the fire. Dammit. “Is it?” Harry asked lightly. “That would explain the leather.” He moved past, toward the stairs. “Night.”

“Good night,” Malfoy said.

Harry turned back just before the stairs and saw Malfoy was watching him. Malfoy’s eyes slid to Harry’s neck.

Harry turned and walked up the stairs.

Harry’s hangover caught up with him the next morning, while Malfoy spent breakfast being maliciously cheery.

“Quidditch, today, Potter?” He asked loudly, rattling the spatula against the pan as he served his eggs.

Kreacher leaped forward and whipped the pan out of his grasp, muttering something about Masters performing menial tasks below their station.

Harry’s head hurt too much to correct Kreacher’s use of title.

“Sure,” he said through gritted teeth, refusing, somewhat stupidly, to be outdone by Malfoy. So what if it felt like his brain was going to dribble out his nose? It would pass. Eventually.

“Excellent,” Malfoy said with a beaming smile. He passed the tomato sauce to Harry, slamming it sharply down onto the table in front of him.

Harry winced. “What did you get up to last night?” Harry asked finally, in an attempt to distract Malfoy’s attention from the decibel possibilities of inanimate objects.

“Nothing as exciting as you, by the look of it,” Malfoy said with a wicked smile. “Want to talk about it?”

Harry wasn’t sure at what point in the last forty-eight hours they had reached such civility, however malicious it may be, but he fervently wanted it to cease.

“No,” he said shortly.

Something flashed across Malfoy’s eyes, but it was gone too quick to identify. Harry stared at him, wondering again what was so different about Malfoy that it was now possible for Harry to be in the same room without plotting his untimely demise. By comparison to the last seven years, their bantered insults of the last couple of days were positively jovial.

“As you wish,” Malfoy said, with a mocking sigh. He set into his breakfast, scraping his cutlery across the plate at every opportunity.

Harry focused on his own breakfast, which was delightfully greasy, and wondered whether he was going to regret his offer of quidditch.

An hour later, when he was standing on the newly charmed oval, he decided there was no possibility he could ever regret quidditch. Straddling the broom, he pushed off into the air and felt a rush of delight. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to fly.

He heard a whoop below him, and looked down to see Malfoy making fast circles, looping toward the trees in the distance. He laughed, realizing that Malfoy was experiencing exactly the same enjoyment as he was.

“Race you to the pitch, Potter,” Malfoy yelled from his position, several metres closer to the pitch than Harry.

Harry laughed and sped forward. He nearly beat Malfoy, despite the headstart, and they settled for doing quick laps around the oval, getting faster and faster as they went.

Finally they slowed to a hover in the middle of the oval and looked at each other. Malfoy’s eyes were bright with excitement and his hair was tangled lightly. Harry realized it wasn’t filled with the usual concoction of grease and product that normally held it so perfectly in place.

That was when it hit him, what was so different about Malfoy: he was no longer trying. He wasn’t seeking approval anymore. There had always been something so tense about Malfoy, so desperate for approval from everyone around him. Now that was gone and the barbs he threw at Harry didn’t cut the same. They weren’t so cheap. If it wasn’t for the obvious fact that they both still hated each other, it would almost be friendly ribbing.

And even that… he wasn’t sure he could say he hated Malfoy at the moment. Without that constantly grating need for attention, he wasn’t half as annoying. In fact, he was almost relaxed. Normal.

The question now was why?

“So, what do you know about the Seekers’ run?” Malfoy asked, drifting back and forth in lazy circles.

“Speed and reflexes,” Harry answered promptly.

Malfoy waved a hand dismissively. “That’s obvious. Do you know how to lead? How to follow?”

Harry looked blank.

Malfoy smirked. “Thirty second intervals.” He waved his wand over each of their brooms. “They’ll screech when it’s time to switch.” He flew around until he was on Harry’s right. “Right leads,” he said. Without any further warning, he burst forward, leaving Harry to catch up.

Harry sped forward, grinning when he caught up easily to Malfoy. Malfoy immediately sped up, Harry following.

“Too easy, Malfoy,” Harry teased.

Malfoy immediately banked left, into Harry. Harry just managed to avoid a collision, banking left until they were in perfect parallel again. He realized suddenly that Malfoy wasn’t just talking big – he had done this before. He turned his attention to the front, ignoring the blur of trees and grass moving past him, and focused on nothing but Malfoy in the corner of his vision.

Malfoy banked right. Harry followed a split second behind. Suddenly a scream ripped through the air. Malfoy flew in a complicated spiral over Harry, falling into place at Harry’s left. Harry realized that it was their brooms screeching the thirty second change, and he banked hard to the right.

Malfoy followed immediately. Harry felt he had the hang of it now and immediately pulled his broom into a steep climb. Shoulder to shoulder, they rose until Harry pulled his broom sharply down.

Malfoy didn’t miss a beat. Their brooms screeched and they switched places. Malfoy seemed to have picked up on the unspoken idea to step it up, and began banking left, right, up and down in quick succession. Harry couldn’t help but grin as he realized he had no trouble keeping pace.

They switched again, almost pre-empting the scream. Harry glanced sideways at Malfoy. The two of them were so focused on each other that even that small movement drew Malfoy’s immediate response. He flicked a glance back at Harry and grinned, his arrogant smirk a challenge.

Harry grinned back and pulled his broom back into another climb. This time, he spiraled. Together they pushed higher and higher, spinning around each other in perfect unison.

They switched back and Malfoy brought them into a steep dive, aiming straight for the centre of the oval. The ground rushed toward them, and Harry had the fleeting thought that Malfoy was playing with him, a deadly game of chicken.

Malfoy pulled them out of the dive with less than twenty metres to spare.

Suddenly Harry’s broom screamed “Time!” They coasted to a halt two metres from the ground and dismounted, falling onto the grass.

The sudden drop in adrenaline forced Harry’s body to catch up with recent events, and he felt suddenly ill. He sat up cautiously, breathing as slowly as he could manage in the aftermath of such intense exercise.

Malfoy’s breaths beside him were coming fast and shallow.

“Not bad, Malfoy,” Harry said, slowly getting his stomach under control.

“Not bad, yourself,” Malfoy replied, sitting up and running his hand through his hair. It was a useless effort.

Suddenly Harry’s stomach gave up the fight. He pitched over sideways and heaved. This morning’s breakfast, last night’s dinner, and everything in between came up. When it had subsided to the final retches, Harry felt Malfoy’s hand on his back. Malfoy rubbed slow circles across his shoulder blades, letting the last shudders pass.

It was different to if Ron had been there. Ron would have patted him awkwardly on the back and probably made the whole thing worse by smacking him too hard. Malfoy seemed unaffected by the mess, and casually sat there, his hand making soothing strokes until it was over.

Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and looked up at Malfoy. Malfoy let his hand drop, resting it behind him and leaning back casually. He met Harry’s eyes, but said nothing.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when his stomach gave another lurch.

Malfoy smirked. “Lightweight,” he said.

Harry punched him lightly on the arm. “You can talk,” he muttered.

“Come on,” Malfoy said, standing up. “Let’s go home.”

 

**Chapter Six**

 

That afternoon, Harry was forced to realise just how much he had relied on Ron and Hermione to keep him company. For someone who had grown up with no friends and no one’s company but his own, he was surprised to learn that he didn’t know how to be alone.

And particularly not how to be alone with an audience. Malfoy was sitting calmly on the sofa, his feet tucked up under a cushion, reading a book that looked hideously like a text book. Harry had brought down a deck of cards, but after four rounds of Electric Solitaire, he was getting pretty bored. He had already owled Ginny to make sure she didn’t organise something for tonight, since he couldn’t handle another night out, but he wondered if she would object if he invited her over for company.

Knowing her, she was probably out with someone else. Or having a family dinner.

Malfoy’s owl flew in the window and dropped a letter on his lap. He unrolled it and read it with a frown.

“Shacklebot wants to speak to me at four,” he said.

Harry looked at the time. It was nearly four. “Are you meeting, or will he use the fire?” Harry asked, shuffling his deck.

“He’ll use the fire,” Malfoy replied, still looking at the letter. “He wants it to be a private meeting,” he said hesitantly, as if he expected Harry to object.

“Fine,” Harry said. “I’ll check on dinner.” He picked up the cards and left to see what Kreacher was doing in the kitchen.

Kreacher was humming to himself, busy chopping carrots to add to the roast that was cooking in the oven. It smelled delicious.

“Can I help?” Harry asked, gesturing vaguely at the carrots.

Kreacher looked affronted. “Master can most certainly _not_ help,” he said with a glare.

“Fine.” Harry held up his hands in a peace offering.

He sat down at the table and dealt out another round of solitaire. The fire crackled and he heard the quiet sound of voices. He ignored them and studied his cards. If he moved the stack to the right, he could check the biggest pile. But if the pile turned over something useless, he would get zapped again. He moved the stack to the right and flipped the top card on the pile.

“Argh!” he yelped, sucking his finger as the useless two of spades sat innocuously on the top of the deck. He went back to the draw pile.

After about five minutes, it occurred to him that he could no longer hear voices. He looked curiously at the door and wondered if Malfoy had gone somewhere with Shacklebot. After another five minutes and two zaps of electricity, he got up to check.

He found Malfoy sitting on the couch, his head bowed. He didn’t look up when Harry entered the room. Harry looked around in alarm, wondering if Shacklebot had just told him that he had to live with Harry forever.

He moved into the room and cleared his throat. Malfoy lifted his head, and the look in his eye stopped whatever words Harry had been about to say. His eyes looked haunted, empty of all emotion except for a wild, almost feverish intensity. Harry stopped walking.

“What happened?” he said finally.

“He’s getting the Kiss,” Malfoy said, his voice flat.

Harry didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t surprised, but he hadn’t really thought about what that would mean for Malfoy. And to be honest, even if he had thought about it, he would never have thought he would care. He moved further into the room and sat carefully on the couch next to Malfoy.

“When?” he asked.

“Dawn,” Malfoy replied, staring straight ahead. “They haven’t made a decision about my mother yet.”

Narcissa’s voice, crying “He is dead!”, popped into Harry’s mind. He pushed it away.

The minutes stretched into a tense silence. It was abundantly clear that there was nothing Harry could say that would help the situation. If he said he was sorry, Malfoy would never believe him. Harry hated Lucius. He hated Malfoy. It was set, unchangeable. To pretend otherwise would be an insult.

Harry reached out and rested his hand on Malfoy’s shoulders. He felt Malfoy stiffen beneath his fingers, but he pretended not to notice and focused on making small, soothing strokes with his hand instead. Malfoy relaxed slightly, and they sat in silence. After a few minutes, Harry drew back his hand and stood up.

“Dinner’s nearly ready,” he said, and left the room, giving Malfoy time if he wanted it.

To his surprise, Malfoy stood up immediately and followed him into the kitchen. It occurred to him that Malfoy was someone who liked to be near people. He hadn’t secluded himself in his room once since he arrived, despite the lack of friendship between the two of them. Harry wondered how he would feel, if it was him. The only comparison he had was Sirius, and that was different in every way.

Kreacher bustled about, oblivious to the mood, for which Harry was grateful. He set a knife to carve up the roast and began serving vegetables.

They ate in silence.

“I was going to live with Sirius,” Harry said suddenly. He looked down at his plate, not entirely sure why he was speaking, but wanting to all the same. “When his name was cleared. I don’t know if you know that, but he wasn’t the one to betray my parents. That was Wormtail - Peter Pettigrew. Anyway, he asked me to live with him, and suddenly it looked like I might have a life outside of Hogwarts. Like I might have a proper family. But then he died.” Harry paused and decided not to go into detail. Whether Malfoy knew or not, it didn’t matter. “In front of me. And it was back to nothing.” He looked up and saw Malfoy watching him. His eyebrow was raised skeptically. Harry would have felt the same, if anyone had tried to make him feel better after Sirius died. He had felt the same. “It never gets any better,” Harry said, looking him in the eye. Malfoy drew a sharp breath, so small you could miss it. “It never hurts any less. It just fades.”

Malfoy’s expression changed, but Harry could no longer read it. He seemed to have swallowed whatever cynical retort he had been about to make. Harry went back to his dinner.

“Thanks, Potter,” Malfoy said finally.

Harry nodded. Neither Ron nor Hermione would have understood, because neither of them had experienced a situation so terrible that sympathy only made it worse. He knew that the only thing you can - will - accept is knowing that someone else understands just how far down you are.

There was a long silence, broken only be the sounds of cutlery and Kreacher humming.

“Are you going out again tonight?” Malfoy asked.

Harry didn’t miss the hint. He shook his head.

After dinner, they sat in the living room. Malfoy had his book again, but whether he was reading it or not Harry had no idea. Harry had abandoned all pretense at playing cards. He was sick of being electrocuted. He sat on the other end of the couch with Malfoy, occasionally sending small pieces of scrunched up paper whizzing into the fire where they burst into tiny flameballs. He caught himself dozing every now and then, and tried to think of ways to force himself to stay awake.

He thought about Sirius, and how different things might have been if he had lived. If they had shared this house when Harry graduated, instead of Harry living in it alone. He tried to remember Sirius as he had been just after being rescued: bursting with life and incredulous at his freedom, before he was jaded again at its loss. He tried to forget how his godfather had been in the months leading up to his death, but that was as much a part of Sirius as everything else was, even if it had ultimately meant his death. Sirius had rushed headlong into rescuing Harry, just as Harry had rushed headlong into the trap that should never have worked. Would never have worked if Harry had listened to Dumbledore and to Snape. He and Sirius were both too impulsive, too much alike, and Harry had never been able to experience the good side of that.

Harry looked up to see Malfoy watching him. The wild look had gone from his eyes to be replaced by a dull emptiness. With a start, Harry realised that it was nearly dawn. He had spent the night thinking about Sirius - something he hadn’t done in years. He had got used to not having the luxury to wallow.

“Did you love him?” Malfoy asked.

Harry blinked. It had been so long since either of them had spoken that the noise sounded coarse and rude against the quiet crackle of the fire. “Yeah,” he said finally. “He was so like my dad. At least, from the memories I saw and from what people told me. He was family. And he loved me. There was no way I couldn’t love him.”

Malfoy made no sign that he had even heard him. “I loved my dad,” he said finally. “But I probably shouldn’t have.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He felt like if he moved, it would disturb something and Malfoy would stop talking, and Harry would never hear what he was going to say.

“I don’t mean because he was a Death Eater,” Malfoy said, suddenly sneering. “He believed that Muggles would mean our downfall just as surely as you lot believed they wouldn’t. There was too much persecution in Muggle history for him to believe that they would welcome us with open arms.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He let Malfoy speak.

“But I shouldn’t have loved him,” Malfoy continued, staring ahead. “Because there was no point. I tried everything, but I still couldn’t get anything out of him.” Malfoy looked Harry in the eye suddenly and gave a rueful smile. Harry fought to keep his expression carefully neutral. “It’s strange,” Malfoy said. “The moment when you suddenly realise that your parents are human. That they can be wrong.”

Harry nodded, thinking of Sirius pacing Grimmauld house, alone. Rushing into a fight with reckless abandon.

A beam of sunlight crossed the couch between them. It took half a second before Harry realised what it meant. He looked up and saw Malfoy’s face go deathly white. Malfoy stayed staring ahead while the sun rose. When the room was filled with light and the birds were singing outside, he stood up, nodded to Harry, and went upstairs.

Harry must have fallen asleep on the couch, because the next thing he knew, Kreacher was shaking him awake to feed him chicken pot pie for lunch.

They spent the next couple of days in a quiet state. Harry wanted to catch up on sleep before Ginny accosted him next, and Malfoy spent more and more time in his rooms upstairs. Occasionally Harry would hear the sound of the guitar, playing a complicated acoustic melody, or he would hear an explosion that would be worrying if Malfoy didn’t have an entire potions cabinet upstairs, but he was otherwise quiet. Harry found he appreciated having the time to think about everything that had happened over the last couple of years - something he realised that he hadn’t found the time yet to do.

After three days of quiet routine, Harry felt he had been given enough thinking time to last him the next decade, but he wasn’t sure whether it was too soon to ask Malfoy for another quidditch game. Before he could work out a way to ensure Malfoy wasn’t bawling in the corner of the room before he knocked on the door, the fire made a high-pitched squealing that indicated someone was requesting to Floo through.

Since there were only two people he knew right now who would be likely to contact him like that, he raced down the stairs and shoved his head into the fire.

“Ron, Hermione!” He said, beaming up at them with pleasure. They were sitting in what looked like a small hotel room somewhere cold. They were rugged up in thick coats, with big smiles on their faces.

“Harry!” Hermione said, leaning into the fire to kiss him on the cheek. “How are you? We miss you!”

“Yeah,” Ron coughed. “Miss you.” He grinned, not looking like he missed Harry at all.

“Where are you now?” Harry asked.

“Romania,” Hermione said with a smile. “We thought we’d visit Charlie first.”

“You should see his breeding rooms, Harry,” Ron said, his eyes wide. “Hagrid’d have a fit.”

Harry laughed. “I’ll bet.”

“So, how is it with Malfoy?” Ron asked, clearly eager for news, probably involving hexes.

Harry made a face. “His dad’s just died,” he said quietly. “He was given the Kiss.”

Hermione looked sympathetic, but Ron just shrugged. “Had it coming,” he said dismissively. “Can’t see why the git even cares. Surely he knew his dad was a total arse.”

Hermione frowned, and seemed about to say something before Harry interrupted. “Just because he wasn’t a good person, doesn’t mean he wasn’t Malfoy’s dad,” he said calmly. “Malfoy has every right to be upset.”

Ron looked taken aback, while Hermione looked proud.

“So you’re getting along then?” Hermione asked.

“More or less,” Harry said with a shrug that was awkward because of the angle. “But what have you guys done apart from seen the dragons?”

Ron wrinkled his nose. “Lots of walking in the cold,” he said.

Hermione looked sheepish. “The castles here are amazing!” she said. “We just had to go on a tour. But we’re going to leave Romania tomorrow, because like Ron says, there isn’t much to do here. We’re going to Bulgaria next. Viktor has invited us to stay with him, and he’s going to show us all the best places to go.”

Ron made a face behind Hermione’s back. Harry laughed.

“Oh, and we’re going to see Nurmengard, too!” Hermione continued. “I think it will be a really fascinating place, although very sobering of course.”

Harry frowned. The name was familiar.

“Grindelwald’s fortress,” Hermione said patiently. “Where he was imprisoned until You Know Who came and… Well, you know.”

Harry remembered Voldemort flying in the window of a dark fortress with the skeletal man curled on the ground. His brain suddenly made one of those unexpected jumps, and something fell into place.

“He knew,” Harry said slowly, shocked.

“Who knew?” Hermione asked with a frown.

“Voldemort knew! About the Hallows,” Harry said, looking up at Hermione and Ron. “We looked at the memory, and Malfoy told me that Voldemort read Grindelwald’s mind before he killed him. He would have been looking for the wand, so he had to have seen about the Hallows. Why wasn’t he going after the lot of them?”

Ron and Hermione both looked concerned.

“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Hermione said tentatively. “He’s gone now.”

Harry frowned. “I guess not,” he said, then gave a small laugh. He wasn’t used to his break-throughs being irrelevant. It was a strange sensation.

Ron gave a relieved laugh. “Well, give our love to Malfoy then,” he said with a smirk. “These long distance Floos cost a ton. We might owl you next!”

Harry grinned. “Look forward to it,” he said.

They said goodbye and Harry pulled his head back through into the living room. To his surprise, Malfoy was sitting on the couch.

“Heard of privacy?” Harry said, although his tone was more of exasperation than the anger that it would have been weeks before.

Malfoy smirked at him. “What are the Hallows?” he asked, looking curious.

“Not this again,” Harry groaned. “We already talked about the Elder Wand.”

Malfoy frowned for a second, before laughing. Harry was surprised at the difference it made to Malfoy’s face. Harry was forced to admit that he was actually quite handsome when he wasn’t looking like something had crawled up his arse and died.

“What’s the Elder Wand?” he asked innocently.

Harry smirked, before sitting down to fill him in on what he, Ron and Hermione had done in the year they took off to chase Voldemort. Bits and pieces were known by the Ministry and various people who had witnessed part of it, but he had never told the full story. He found himself surprisingly pleased to have company again, after several days of feeling like he was back at Privet Drive.

When he had finished, a good while later, Malfoy frowned. “He had to have known about the Hallows. Before the Occlumency, I mean.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, yawning and leaning back into the couch.

“Well, Grindelwald was the biggest dark wizard of the time. How could The Dark Lord not have read about him? I would have thought he would have read anything he could get his hands on about someone who had tried and failed to do the very thing he was planning.”

Harry frowned. Malfoy had a point. “So, why wasn’t he searching for them, then?” he asked. “Why did he choose Horcruxes? Do you think he’d already started, and by then it was too late?”

Malfoy shrugged. “I’ve no idea.” He yawned suddenly and leaned back on the couch next to Harry. “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Harry turned and gave him a wry smile. “That’s what Ron and Hermione said. I think they panicked and thought I was going to get obsessed with Voldemort again.”

Malfoy laughed. Harry was struck again by how strange it was on him, and how much it suited him. “What’s wrong with that?” he asked. “Your obsession seemed to work out pretty well last time.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that. It was the first time Malfoy had ever acknowledged Harry’s defeat of Voldemort at all, let alone in a positive light.

“Thanks for giving my wand back, by the way,” Malfoy said, his voice becoming a tired drawl. “I always liked that wand best.”

Harry shrugged. “S’fine. The least I could do. If you hadn’t disarmed Dumbledore, and if I hadn’t disarmed you, I never would have been able to defeat Voldemort.” He grinned. “So, you could say I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Malfoy turned to him and gave a wry smile. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

Harry snorted. After a second, he realised that Malfoy was still watching him. Harry noticed his eyes were slightly shut from tiredness, their colour seeming almost black in the low lighting. As Harry’s eyes met his, he made a small movement, like he was about to speak.

Then something crossed his face and he stood up suddenly. “Quidditch tomorrow?” he asked.

Harry sat up. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Malfoy muttered goodnight and left the room, leaving Harry to sit by himself and wonder why it felt as though he had just missed something very important.

 

**Chapter Seven**

 

Ginny’s owl arrived after lunch, when they had arrived back from another Seekers’ run, warning him that she expected him to be ready to go by eight with something new to wear. Her postscript assured him that this place would be better.

He eyed the clothes in his wardrobe warily. He wasn’t sure where they were going yet, and Ginny had been particularly insistent on wearing something new and nice. He decided on similar attire to the other night, choosing black jeans and sneakers and a light blue shirt with faintly shimmery material. He was fairly certain Ginny had bought him this one in a sincere but misguided attempt to get him to make an effort in his appearance. He only ever wore this kind of clothing when he was out with her, and then only because she would make him wear something ten times worse if he didn’t.

He brushed his hair half-heartedly, but it still stuck in every direction. He was lucky that it had at least grown to a length beyond the point where it just stuck straight up. At least at the length it was now, it could seem like he had intended it to look messy.

He came downstairs and sat in the living room to wait for Ginny. Malfoy looked up as he sat down and snorted.

“You look pathetic,” he said, turning back to his book.

Harry looked down at his clothing. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” He shot back, feeling highly insulted. He thought he looked pretty good tonight, actually.

“It’s not the clothing, Potter,” Malfoy drawled. “It’s you. You look like a dog left out in the rain.”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Malfoy continued, still not looking up from his book. “That if you don’t want to upset the girl Weasley’s plans of hooking you up with Mr. Right, you’re going to have to at least try to look like you’re not waiting to crawl into a hole and die.”

Harry stared at him, his mouth open.

"Oh come on, Potter, you really think I didn’t know?” Malfoy looked up with a sneer. “I’m not an idiot, unlike two people I could name. Although perhaps their temporarily besotted state could excuse them from seeing two feet in front of their nose.”

Harry’s jaw moved up and down uselessly. He had no words. “And?” he managed finally.

“And what?” Malfoy said with a shrug. “Your woeful attempts to change the subject whenever we strayed anywhere near the topic of dating were pissing me off. You know I know, and now we can move onto my unshakable mirth at the girl Weasley’s attempts to set you up with someone whose idea of a good time is to butt heads and then snog it off.”

The fact that Harry had made a similar complaint to Ginny when they left _Gusto’s_ did not prevent him from feeling indignant on Ginny’s behalf. She was trying her best. “She means well,” he said.

Malfoy snorted. “She is incapable of recognising another person’s point of view,” he said.

This time Harry snorted. Before he could say anything, the fire flared green and Ginny stepped through. She nodded to Malfoy and eyed Harry up and down critically.

“Good,” she said with a smile. “Hey, before we go, could you fix up the zipper on my dress? I think it’s caught.”

Harry nodded and followed her into the kitchen. “It looks fine,” he said, looking closely at the zipper on her slim black dress.

Ginny turned around and stepped in close to him. For a panicked second, Harry thought she was going to kiss him. Then he realised she was only whispering.

“I think we should invite Malfoy,” Ginny said in a voice so low he had to bend down to hear it.

He frowned at her. “Really?” he asked, just as quietly.

She nodded. “Dad told me what happened to his father,” she looked sober. Considering the man had tried to kill her, Harry thought it was remarkably noble of her. “And half his friends are in Azkaban, while the other half would kill him if they ever saw him because he’s giving up the names of all their families.”

She had a point.

“I just feel bad leaving him out of everything,” she said with a shrug. “He’s sitting in there with you, so you must be getting along.” She looked at him questioningly.

Harry nodded.

“The only thing is, I might have to change where we’re going,” she said, hesitating. “It’s pretty obvious,” she trailed off.

Harry sighed. “He knows,” he said, smiling ruefully.

Ginny blinked at him in surprise. “You told him?” she asked.

Harry shook his head. “He figured it out.”

Ginny laughed. “And Ron and Hermione still have no clue. That’ll kill them. Alright, well if you’re fine with it?”

“Yeah, I’m fine with it,” he said, feeling a bit strange. Malfoy would probably say no, but it was worth asking. Ginny was right, when he thought about it, who exactly did Malfoy have left?

“Hey, Malfoy,” Harry said when they walked back into the living room. “Did you want to come with us?”

Malfoy looked surprised. “Where are you going?” he asked suspiciously.

“Er,” Harry looked at Ginny. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out,” she said smugly. “Come on, get dressed Malfoy. We’ll be late.”

Malfoy looked like he was about to smirk and refuse, but for some reason he apparently changed his mind. “Alright,” he said, swinging his legs off the couch and standing up. “I’ll be a minute.”

He wasn’t lying. If Harry had been told to guess, he would have said Malfoy was one of those people who took no less than half an hour to get ready for something, but he was back in under ten minutes. He was dressed similar to Harry, apparently going for the safety in numbers approach. Black jeans, black leather shoes and a dark red shirt. He waved his wand and his hair turned from blonde to dark brown, almost black. It made a striking difference to his appearance, so anyone out looking for the Malfoy heir would have to know very well what he looked like to recognise him. It would certainly do for a quick night out.

He grinned at them, surprising Harry yet again with an expression that seemed to hold nothing behind it.

“Ready,” he said.

Harry caught Ginny’s look of surprise and approval, before she grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the fire. “Come on then,” she said.

Malfoy stepped forward and linked arms with Harry. Harry looked at him in surprise, but Ginny was already pulling them forward and into the flames.

“Oh, Ginny, what the hell?” Harry said in horror, looking around at long hall decked out with two strips of tables down the middle. Clusters of people stood around one end of the hall, near the fireplace where they had just popped out. They quickly moved out of the way so that the next people could arrive.

“Speed dating!” Ginny said excitedly, gesturing toward the tables with the air of a magician presenting his showgirl.

Malfoy’s expression was caught somewhere between amusement and horror.

“Ladies at the tables on the left, Gentlemen at the tables on the right,” the MC announced, his voice projecting magically through the hall. “If you are seated on the right side of your tables, please stay seated for the duration. Your dates will come to you!”

Everyone started jostling for the tables. Harry caught Malfoy’s eye and was pleased to see the same panic in Malfoy’s expression as he was sure was in his own.

“Ginny?” Harry said lightly. “When, er, I invited Malfoy, did it occur to you to warn us that perhaps he would have preferred to join us on a different night?”

“Hmm?” Ginny asked vaguely, turning towards them from where she was eyeing off the ladies taking their seats. Her face suddenly froze. “Oh, gosh! I’m so sorry!” She exclaimed, slapping her hand to her mouth. “I didn’t even think, Malfoy! Oh, I’m sure you’ll be alright though.” She gave an apologetic smile and moved off to take her seat.

Harry considered himself one of the few people who was truly close to Ginny, and so he was confident in his assessment that her surprise wasn’t entirely genuine. Perhaps she hadn’t been entirely altruistic in her offer of company. He sighed and turned back to Malfoy. “Shall we take a seat?”

Malfoy gave him a look that suggested just how many pieces Harry would find the body in, before he gave a curt nod and moved to the table. There were two seats left on the right side of the table, so they sat together and waited for the bell.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the MC announced. “On your marks!” The men in the queue at the end of the table shifted on the spot, waiting until they could take their seats on the left. “Get set!” The MC paused dramatically. “Go!”

The queue took off to their seats, and a man with dark brown hair sat himself in front of Harry. He had a friendly face with strikingly amber eyes. The fact that those eyes made Harry think of Hedwig wasn’t doing wonders for the man’s sex appeal.

“I’m Harry,” Harry said, braving a smile.

He heard Malfoy snort next to him, before saying “I’m Draco.” The mimicry in his tone was obvious, although his partner didn’t notice.

“Robert,” Hedwig-eyes said, returning the smile. “What do you do for fun?”

“Quidditch,” Harry replied promptly. “You?”

Robert gave Harry an incredulous look. “Quidditch? Gosh, I haven’t played that since I was in school.”

Since he hardly looked any older than Harry, Harry immediately wrote him off as a pretentious tosser.

“I collect antiques,” Robert continued, smiling like he was offering Harry a rare treat, utterly confirming Harry’s first impression.

“Really?” Harry said, beaming widely. “Brilliant. I collect Chocolate Frog cards. I got a really good swap on Gartheus Mundane the other day. He’s worth a mint.”

He heard Malfoy give a surprised laugh next to him and grinned innocently at Robert as the buzzer went.

“Change places!” The MC yelled.

Robert moved on with a disgusted expression and was replaced by Malfoy’s date.

“Henry,” he said, leaning forward to shake Harry’s hand.

Harry took an immediate dislike to him. Who shakes their date’s hand?

“Harry,” he said, fighting down the urge to laugh at the expression of distaste on Henry’s face.

Henry flicked a glance back at Malfoy. “You’re friends, then?” he asked, looking wary.

Harry looked at Malfoy, who was wearing an innocent expression while apparently describing the many ways you could disembowel a lizard for advanced potion making. His new date looked faintly green.

“Yeah, why?” Harry asked.

Henry’s lip curled up slightly. “Are you a chiromancer too, then?” he asked, shifting his gaze back to Malfoy.

“One of the best,” Harry said, having no idea what a chiromancer was.

Henry shoved his hand at Harry, palm up. “Go on then,” he demanded.

Harry stared at his hand blankly. He looked up at Malfoy, who was shaking his head sadly at Henry. Harry was reminded absurdly of Professor Trelawny whenever she gave one of her predictions of doom, which was when it hit him where he had heard the term chiromancy before.

He grabbed Henry’s hand and stared at it intently. “The Grim!” he said dramatically. “Beware!”

Henry yanked his hand back, the distasteful expression back on his face mixed with a hint of fear. The buzzer went off and he jumped up from his chair and moved down.

“I told him he was going to be singlehandedly responsible for reintroducing syphilis to East Europe,” Malfoy muttered to him as their dates switched over. “Nice backup.”

Harry snorted and turned back to his new date. Harry took pity on him - he still looked faintly green - and decided to go easy this time.

“Harry,” he said with a smile.

“Norm,” the green guy replied.

“Favourite food?” Harry asked, saying the first thing that came to his head.

“Eggplant parma,” he replied.

Harry made a face. “Really? What about pork roast?”

Norm blanched again. “I’m a vegetarian.”

Harry fought back the urge to laugh and looked away politely while Norm regained control of his stomach.

Malfoy leaned over. “I forgot one!” he said brightly. “If you peel back the skin in pieces, the concentration of body fluids is higher! Better for those pesky volatile mixes.”

Norm dry-retched into his handkerchief while Malfoy made a face that would be the picture of innocent concern if you had never seen him dress up as a Dementor to ruin a quidditch game.

The buzzer went and they moved along again. Harry decided he was already thoroughly bored of this, and wondered how much longer he would be forced to sit here and sadistically sabotage his own potential relationships.

A man with black hair and vibrant blue eyes sat down in front him. Harry gave a small start. He had to be one of the most attractive men Harry had every seen.

“Dave,” the man said, leaning his elbows onto the table and flicking his hair back out of his eyes. “You sick of this yet?” he asked with a grin.

“Very,” Harry said, finding himself smiling back.

“I got dragged here by my sister,” he said, giving a rueful smile. “She’s over at the girls’ table, probably having a laugh.”

“I got dragged here by my friend’s sister,” Harry said. “She’s the redhead over there.”

Dave turned around and spotted Ginny easily. “Gorgeous,” he said, turning back immediately. He flicked a glance at Malfoy. “Ex?” he asked quietly.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Nah,” he said quickly. “He’s not even-” he stopped, realising that if they knew Malfoy wasn’t gay, they wouldn’t be happy that he had taken up a valuable slot at the table.

Dave nodded, grinning. “Thought it would be strange to speed date with an ex,” he said. “But you guys looked like you had a history. And you don’t look related.”

Harry grinned ruefully. “Right on both counts,” he said. “But not like you think.”

The buzzer went. Dave moved on, but Harry saw he kept casting glances back his way as he moved further down the table.

“Time’s up!” The MC yelled. He waved his wand and the tables were instantly replaced with cocktail tables and a bar. “Mingle, singles!” he announced with entirely too much zest.

“Weasley’s got herself a match,” Malfoy said, nudging Harry and pointing to where Ginny stood chatting to a tall blonde.

Harry grinned. “Good for her,” he said, looking up at Malfoy.

Malfoy looked surprisingly happy, all things considered. His eyes still held the faint amusement they had when he was making fun of the dates with Harry, and Harry decided it really had been a good thing to invite Malfoy along. He had needed to get out of the house.

“You didn’t give up, then?”

Harry looked up to see Dave standing in front of him, a slight smile on his face.

“Barely,” Harry said with a grin.

Dave nodded to Malfoy briefly, who gave a very stiff nod back, and turned back to Harry. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked.

Harry felt slightly stunned, but nodded. “Firewhisky, thanks,” he said.

Dave moved off to the bar. Harry turned to Malfoy, feeling suddenly awkward.

Malfoy smirked. “Don’t slouch now, Potter,” he said, his voice rough.

Harry frowned. Before he could say anything, Malfoy had moved off. Dave returned with his drink and Harry forced himself to pay attention.

“How long have you been out?” Dave asked, taking a sip of his drink, which was a strange, smoking concoction.

“Er,” Harry paused. “Well, I guess I’ve known for about a year,” he said, thinking it through. He really hadn’t had much time to think about it. Ever. It had just hit him one day, and he had put off dealing with it every since.

“But how long have your family known?” Dave asked.

“They don’t,” Harry said. “Well, actually, they’re dead. But my friend’s family - they’re like my family - they don’t know.”

“Ah,” Dave nodded. “That would be the family of your redheaded friend?”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded. “They’re a bit, well, traditional.”

Dave nodded understandingly. “But you’re out on the scene anyway. Good on you. It’s not easy.”

Harry tuned out slightly while Dave talked about his own experience. As nice as Dave was, Harry was suddenly very tired. It was exhausting talking to so many strangers in such a short space of time.

“Do you smoke?” Dave asked.

Harry shook his head.

“Mind if I do?” he asked, nodding his head toward the door.

Harry gestured that no, he didn’t mind, and followed Dave toward the exit. As he went through the door, he looked around for Malfoy and saw him on the other side of the hall talking to a small man Harry could barely remember. Malfoy looked up and caught his eye, and Harry felt a jolt at the anger he saw there. Whatever he was discussing, he mustn’t be very happy about it.

He moved through the door. There was a small patio outside, lit with fairy lights along the balcony. The view seemed to be somewhere in London, although Harry wasn’t quite sure.

“That’s better,” Dave said with a smile. “It’s much quieter out here. I can hear you properly.” He lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “I’m afraid I have to get up early for work tomorrow,” he said apologetically. “But if you’re interested, I’d like to take you out for coffee or lunch some time?”

He looked hopeful, and Harry found he was smiling despite himself. Maybe this wouldn’t be too hard. Maybe he could date Dave for a while, and then everything would fall into place and he could tell Ron and Hermione and everyone else with someone standing at his side.

The door slammed open. Malfoy stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets. He looked like he had just kicked his way through.

Dave took one look at him and stood up. Malfoy didn’t say anything. Dave took a long drag of his cigarette before dropping it on the ground. He took a card out of his shirt pocket and gave it to Harry.

“Owl me,” he said lightly, before giving Malfoy one last look and leaving.

“What the hell was that about?” Harry asked, mildly annoyed. “Are you really having such a bad time that you had to ruin mine?”

Malfoy scoffed. “Cause it needed any help.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry snapped.

“You’re as bad as Weasley,” Malfoy spat back. “The first thing that comes walking in with a fit body and a tight arse, and you’re all over it. I thought you wanted more than that.”

“What?” Harry said, bewildered. “What the hell are you talking about? I do. I’m not that shallow.”

Malfoy gave a dry laugh. “You’re as shallow as Weasley,” he drawled. “That guy was a total player, and you followed him out here like a little lamb.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “You’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Malfoy,” he said quietly. “And what are you talking about a fit body for anyway? You sound bent yourself.”

Malfoy’s fists clenched. Suddenly Harry felt like he was back at Hogwarts, about to get into a fight with his arch enemy. He grinned.

Malfoy shoved him, and before Harry could react he had his back against the brick wall of the building and Malfoy’s body pressed up against his. There was a split second of nothing, where neither of them moved or breathed, before Malfoy made a small sound in the back of his throat, almost like despair, and then suddenly Malfoy was kissing him. Harry gasped, but there was nowhere to move. Malfoy kissed his open mouth, slipping his tongue inside to graze lightly over Harry’s teeth, over his tongue, until Harry suddenly broke and before he knew what he was doing, he was kissing Malfoy back. He reached his hands up to curl into the back of Malfoy’s hair, and found himself wishing stupidly that Malfoy’s hair was blonde again, instead of this dark brown that made Harry feel like he was kissing a stranger.

Malfoy moved his hands around behind Harry, running them along his back and down into the curve above his arse, grabbing and pushing Harry against him. He drew his head back briefly and looked at Harry, his eyes wide and feverish, before Harry pulled him back down. Malfoy’s kisses slowed, the edge disappearing until he was kissing Harry languidly, almost lazily. He ran his tongue lightly across Harry’s bottom lip, grinning against Harry’ mouth when Harry groaned against him.

He moved his hands back over Harry’s arse and ground his hips slowly forward.

The door swung open.

"Oops, sorry!” the women backed out again, grinning widely.

Malfoy pushed away from Harry. His breath was coming in large, visible gasps, and the collar of his shirt had skewed so that Harry could clearly see the outline of his collarbone, pale beneath the moonlight.

Harry stared at him, leaning back against the wall, and wondered if it was better or worse that someone had opened the door. Before he could say anything - before he could even think what to say - Malfoy opened the door again and was gone.

 

**Chapter Eight**

 

“You got an address? Good job, Harry!” Ginny exclaimed while they waited for the people in front of them to step through the fire. She eyed his disheveled appearance and grinned speculatively. “You like you got a bit more than an address,” she said. She turned to Malfoy. “What about you, Malfoy?” she asked innocently. “Meet anyone you fancy?”

Malfoy shot her a look of pure hatred, before affecting an air of woe. “Too few people were on my level of intellect and looks, sadly,” he announced dramatically.

Ginny laughed, looking surprised at Malfoy’s show of humor. “Well, I’ll head back now,” she said as the fireplace cleared. “See you another time. You should come again, Malfoy.” She waved to Harry and stepped into the flames.

They waited for everyone else to leave so that Harry didn’t inadvertently give away their address. Harry was fairly certain that he could count on one hand the number of silences he had experienced as awkward as this.

When it came their turn to step into the fireplace, Malfoy grabbed his arm without looking at him. Harry stepped forward and they arrived home.

Harry stepped out of the fireplace and leaned over to brush soot from his shoes. Malfoy hovered in the living room, his hands in his pockets. Harry looked up to see him studying the mantelpiece intently.

“Want to talk about it?” Harry asked.

“No,” Malfoy said. “But I recognise that we live together and so avoiding each other isn’t a decent option.”

“No,” Harry agreed. He waited.

“I’m sorry,” Malfoy said finally, still not looking at him. “That wasn’t fair.”

“Huh?” Harry asked stupidly.

“I shouldn’t have led you on,” Malfoy continued. “I know you’re looking for someone, and I guess I made you think that I was interested.”

Malfoy was making it sound like Harry had jumped him, instead of the other way around. Harry opened his mouth to protest.

“I won’t do it again,” Malfoy said quickly, looking him in the eye for the first time.

Harry shut his mouth. “Alright,” he said finally.

Malfoy nodded and went upstairs. Harry sat down on the couch, feeling very confused. Eventually, he fell asleep.

Malfoy didn’t want to play quidditch the next day. Instead, he stayed up in his room, apparently learning some new song on guitar because he kept stopping and starting and playing the wrong notes. The door was open, so he wasn’t exactly avoiding Harry, but Harry left him alone anyway.

Pulling out the stack of pamphlets Hermione had left him, he decided it was time to figure out what he was going to do with his life.

_Dark Lords and the Wizards Who Stopped Them_

_The Lives and Life Expectancy of Amazing Aurors_

_Aurors: Why You’ll Never Need a Nursing Home_

Harry sighed. He had mentioned once, off-hand, that he might consider being an auror, and suddenly that was all anyone wanted for him. He’d had the idea before he had defeated a dark wizard. Now that was done, he rather felt he could do without that kind of thing ever again.

“Accio, _Quidditch Through The Ages,_ ” he muttered, sending the book flying from the living room into his outstretched hand.

He flicked idly through the pages, wondering again if it were possible to become a professional Seeker when he was so behind in training. This was part of the reason he had asked Malfoy to do Seekers’ runs with him. He had been hoping it would help make up his mind one way or another, but he was still just as confused. It seemed entirely possible, but he felt as though his friend’s reactions would be less than supportive, given his obvious talent for defeating evil. Although if he thought about it, Ron would surely approve.

Maybe he could ask Krum. They were bound to contact Harry while they were staying with Krum, maybe he could Floo them there.

A noise at the doorway made him look up. Malfoy was standing there, looking hesitant. Despite the fact that he had obviously intended for them to return to normal interaction after last night, he seemed to be having the most trouble doing so.

“I’ve got to go into the Ministry,” Malfoy said, waving a piece of parchment vaguely. “They have a new angle they want to check out, apparently.”

Harry nodded. “See you later, then.”

Malfoy turned and left.

Harry went back to his book, flicking back and forth in no particular order. The more he thought about it, the more he found himself wanting that kind of lifestyle. The training, the exhilaration of the game. It would be a busy lifestyle, one that would hopefully keep his thoughts away from the failures of his love-life.

He snapped the book shut and stood up to make a cup of tea. Every few minutes or so, his thoughts kept returning to Malfoy and last night, and if he wasn’t able to put a stop to such thinking soon, he was afraid that Ron and Hermione were going to come home to a quivering wreck.

Malfoy had kissed him. Had kissed him really bloody well. Malfoy, it turned out, was an exceptionally good kisser.

And that was where his brain froze up and refused to go any further. That is, until Harry broke under the effort of trying to Not Think About It and was forced to repeat the whole messy thought process again.

Malfoy wasn’t gay, and yet he had kissed Harry. Harry stopped and thought about it. He didn’t actually know that Malfoy wasn’t gay. He had only assumed because of the whole Pansy thing. But people would probably have said the same about Harry and the whole Ginny thing, and that was just laughable. He supposed it didn’t really matter, because Malfoy, gay or not, _had_ kissed him and, what’s more, had liked it. That much was obvious.

But he wouldn’t do it again. Harry frowned. What did that even mean? He wanted to do it again, but he wouldn’t out of respect for Harry? Harry laughed out loud at the thought of that. So did that mean that he didn’t want to do it again, and the first time had simply been a lapse in judgment? Harry shook his head. He had no idea what Malfoy had meant, and even if he did, he would still be left with the uncomfortable fact that he had no idea what _he_ wanted.

Better to just ignore the whole thing.

He pulled a quill and a piece of parchment out of a drawer and sat down to write a letter to Krum. He still knew Krum’s address from when he had caught and teased Hermione for keeping in touch with him, so he penned a quick note asking how he was and if he had any advice regarding professional quidditch, and telling him to say hi to Ron and Hermione for him. He then sent the message with Edgar - the owl he had bought to replace Hedwig.

He looked down at his quill, twirling it idly between his fingers. Before he had a chance to rethink his decision, he pulled another piece of parchment out of the drawer, wrote a short message asking if Dave wanted to go for lunch tomorrow, and sent the message with Malfoy’s owl to the address on Dave’s card.

When that was done, he felt a little breathless, and was devastated to discover that he still had an entire afternoon to kill. He moved into the living room and sat back on the couch, staring at the window and wondering how the hell he had ever managed being alone before.

His eyes slid over to the cabinet which used to hold a number of dark items, but had since been emptied. Now all it held were a selection of Harry’s more breakable or precious objects, such as his sneakoscope and chess set, and the pouch Hagrid had given him for his last birthday. Harry stood up and retrieved the pouch. Reaching inside, he pulled out the snitch Dumbledore had left him with the resurrection stone sealed inside. He let it hover in front of him, humming quietly, before snatching it back and setting it down on the couch where it calmly folded its wings and waited. Reaching back in, he paused a moment before pulling out the Elder wand.

He had been going to put it back in its final resting place with Dumbledore, but too many people had witnessed his final battle with Voldemort, where he had proclaimed the Elder Wand as his own despite Voldemort taking it from Dumbledore’s grave, for him to be comfortable leaving it there. If the wand was in the wrong hands it could be devastating. So he had quietly kept it, figuring that the magical pouch inside the house where he was Secret Keeper was safe enough for now.

He held it up and felt it thrum beneath his fingertips, almost as though it were alive. It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold either. He pointed it experimentally at the cabinet and watched the whole thing rise in the air effortlessly, as if the wand had been waiting for an excuse to be used.

He set the cabinet down again hurriedly before anything broke and admired the wand. It was certainly tempting to use, but that would just be asking for someone to try and take it off him. Better for him to act as though he didn’t have it any more, and hope its whereabouts descended into mystery.

He had just slipped the wand back into the pouch and sent it back to the cabinet when the flames turned green and Malfoy stepped through. He looked faintly surprised to see Harry sitting there, but covered it quickly with a sneer.

“Don’t you _do_ anything with your day, Potter?” he asked.

Harry opened his mouth to snap something along the lines of Malfoy missing him, when he realised that the other night put a whole new spin on banter like that. He shut his mouth.

Malfoy didn’t seem to notice, and sat down on the couch.

“So, what did Shacklebot show you today?” Harry asked instead.

Malfoy made a face, but didn’t seem too distressed. Perhaps the memories he’d been forced to endure hadn’t been too bad today. “It seems over the past few days the Ministry have been collecting memories of Twilfitt,” he said. “They don’t have very many recent ones, as, unsurprisingly, few people were indulging in dress robes during The Dark Lord’s rise to power. The ones they have were interesting, though.” Malfoy looked thoughtful. “He became very twitchy in the last few months of The Dark Lord’s life. More so than your average Death Eater,” Malfoy gave a wry smile. “And it would seem as though he was looking for something. I’ve suggested they ask Ollivander for memories.” He looked pointedly at Harry.

Harry frowned. “But Voldemort didn’t tell anyone about the Elder wand,” he said.

Malfoy shrugged. “Then either a little birdy told him, or he had a nasty fetish. All I know is that he was unreasonably nervous for someone so far from The Dark Lord’s inner circle, and he was very interested in wand lore and history.”

“That’s not good,” Harry said after an uncomfortable pause.

“You think?” Malfoy sneered.

Before Harry could say anything, Malfoy’s owl flew back in. Malfoy looked surprised for a second, but when it flew to Harry his expression changed instantly to suspicion.

“I had to send two messages,” Harry explained.

“And you didn’t wait like any normal person?” Malfoy queried.

“Well, I sent Edgar to Bulgaria,” he said apologetically. “I figured he could do with a rest when he came back. Besides, this one was,” he paused, remembering suddenly and vividly Malfoy’s reaction to Dave’s interest in Harry. “Spontaneous,” he finished in what he hoped was a casual voice.

When he chanced a look at Malfoy, he saw that Malfoy’s eyes were glazed in anger. Before Harry could speak, Malfoy got up and left the room.

Harry came to the conclusion that although Malfoy didn’t want to snog Harry himself, for some reason he wanted to reserve the right to an opinion on anyone else who did. Which in Harry’s mind meant that however else Malfoy may have changed in the last few months, he was still an arse.

When Kreacher was serving dinner that night, Malfoy came down with a large book in his hands. He set it carefully on the table and gave Harry a look that was equal parts anger and caution. When Harry didn’t say anything, he sat down and shoved his hair back casually, as if you couldn’t cut the tension between them with a knife.

“So, I was looking into these Hallows,” Malfoy said, taking his plate from Kreacher. “And I think there’s more to them.”

“How?” Harry asked. “Dumbledore had no reason to leave anything out anymore. He told me everything.”

“What if he didn’t know?” Malfoy asked. “It’s possible.”

Harry felt insulted, but he stopped himself from arguing. If he had learned anything over the last year, it was that Dumbledore was a man like anyone else and capable of mistakes.

“What do you think they were?” he asked instead.

“I’m not sure yet.” Malfoy looked annoyed. He gestured to the book. “Watching Twilfitt got me thinking about this wand being recorded through history. It didn’t make sense that these three amazing items, incomparable to anything you’ve ever seen, could have made it through history so unnoticed. Like the wand, surely they had been recorded in some way. And if they had been recorded, maybe there was something Dumbledore and Grindelwald had missed. Something lost in translation, or written in a place they didn’t expect.”

Harry frowned, but didn’t interrupt.

“I mean, as much as it seemed Dumbledore was a bit of a hellion in his youth,” Malfoy said drily. “I can’t imagine him prioritizing dark magic texts over other texts. So he would already have a bias in his research base.”

Harry hated to admit it, but it made sense.

“Plus,” Malfoy continued. “So many of the truly dark texts are kept in private collections, where you would have to know someone to gain access. You’re not just going to find them in a library somewhere, no matter how eclectic.”

“So how do we get them?” Harry asked.

Malfoy smirked. “Think about what I just said, Potter.” He tapped the book on the table. “We have quite a nice starting point already.”

Harry’s eyes widened as he realised what Malfoy meant. He made a quick decision to tell Hermione and Ron nothing. Not only would they disapprove of him looking into the Hallows again, but Hermione would never let him look at the Malfoy library without having her say.

“And where do we go once we’ve exhausted your collection?” Harry asked, wondering just how much Malfoy’s bookcase could tell them.

“I think, Potter,” Malfoy said, looking faintly uneasy. “It might be time for me to visit home.”

 

**Chapter Nine**

 

They decided to apparate to Malfoy Manor, since someone could easily watch the Manor fireplaces for Malfoy to appear. After a long silence, Harry realised that Malfoy was taking longer than he should to work out their apparition stopovers. He looked up to see Malfoy staring into space. He looked lost. Harry suddenly realised that despite how much Malfoy had brushed it off on the outside, his father’s death was hitting him hard.

Harry mentally kicked himself for not understanding sooner. Malfoy’s father had meant everything to him. Harry might have dealt with something similar with Sirius, but he had still only known him a couple of years. And besides, he and Malfoy were completely different people, so they were going to deal with grief differently. Harry had become little more than a zombie, making it blatantly obvious how he was feeling, but Malfoy was acting exactly the same as he always did. Harry should have recognised that something more was going on underneath.

That was when last night suddenly clicked into place.

“Er, Malfoy,” he said, trying not to sound awkward.

Malfoy looked up at him, making a visible effort to appear normal.

“It’s okay,” Harry continued, rubbing the back of his neck and finding that he couldn’t actually look at Malfoy while he was speaking. “I get it.”

Malfoy frowned, but Harry pressed on before he could say anything.

“I didn’t even think, you know, about your dad. And we deal with things differently, but even I acted kind of barmy when Sirius died. I kept looking around for his ghost until Nick told me it wouldn’t happen. And then I looked for him in the mirror-” Harry realised he wasn’t making sense. On the plus side, Malfoy was looking significantly more normal with an expression of scorn creeping onto his face. “Anyway,” Harry decided to start again. “People do weird things when they’re grieving. So I get why you kissed me, and I’m not thinking anything into it.”

Malfoy blinked, looking surprised.

Harry laughed. “I guess I pushed you a bit anyway by telling you that you weren’t gay. If someone had shoved that in my face when I was trying to help them get a proper date, I’d feel angry enough to want to prove something, too.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened, making him look comically shocked. Then relief suddenly crossed his face. “Well, yeah,” he said, trailing off, his temporary speechlessness making him sound almost like Harry. He smirked. “You could say that was the final straw.” He narrowed his eyes. “But I never told you I was gay.”

Harry smirked at him, enjoying the brief role reversal. “Well, I figured it out somewhere around the time you shoved your tongue down my throat.”

Malfoy looked faintly horrified at Harry’s lack of tact.

“Actually, I’m lying,” Harry said, deciding to give Malfoy a break. “You confused the hell out of me. But then I realised that if you _weren’t_ gay and had just been trying it on, you would have made a massive effort afterward to convince me you weren’t gay. But you didn’t even care about that. You only cared that you had kissed me without meaning to, so I should have realised you were just messed up about your dad.”

Malfoy smirked. “I always knew you were an idiot, Potter,” he said. “Mortal enemies for seven years and you couldn’t figure it out.”

Harry shot him a glare, but there was no real malice behind it.

There was another silence, but this time there was no tension. “So, we’re fine?” Malfoy asked finally.

“My eleven year old self would kill me for saying it, but yeah,” Harry replied with a grin.

Malfoy laughed at that. “My seventeen year old self would kill me,” he muttered. “Alright, let’s go.” He stood up and held his arm out to Harry as if he were escorting him to a dance.

“We’ve got to do it on the front step,” Harry said. “Wards and all that.”

“Ah,” Malfoy nodded and walked off, Harry following.

Harry knew that if he had time to stop and think about it, he would be stunned at the friendship that had developed between him and Malfoy in the last week. As it was, it just felt normal. Without the constant need to be admired, to be the best, Malfoy seemed to have no reason to hate Harry. It made Harry realise just how many of their exchanges had been nothing but hate and the ridiculous need to crush each other in some competition that no one could win. Harry found that he was profoundly grateful for whatever it was that had made Malfoy suddenly grow up.

It wasn’t until they were apparating to their first stop that he realised that perhaps he had grown up a bit, too.

“Home, sweet home,” Malfoy said drily as they landed on a hill overlooking the Manor.

They had decided to apparate some distance away, to make sure that they didn’t set off any sensors that might be keeping a lookout for Malfoy. When they had decided it was as safe as they could determine, they headed down to the back entry.

For a place that had been a Dark Lord’s headquarters for months, there was surprisingly little evidence of Voldemort. Possibly because the place was evil enough already. Harry felt like he was back in Grimmauld place before they had renovated the old Black decor.

“So, what would your family have done if you weren’t sorted into Slytherin?” Harry asked, looking around at the elegant green and silver decorations.

Malfoy laughed. “As if, Potter. Use your head. That would have been as likely as you being sorted into Slytherin.”

“Actually, I nearly was,” Harry said, enjoying the look on Malfoy’s face.

“Come again?” Malfoy asked politely when the horror had subsided.

"The hat wanted to put me in Slytherin,” Harry said, pausing to look closely at a shriveled head encased in glass. “I told it ‘no’.” He turned to Malfoy and grinned. “I’d just met you, you see. You kind of put me off the idea.”

Malfoy wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I wholeheartedly admire your foresight, if not its catalyst,” he said, shuddering dramatically. “Imagine if we had shared a House. I would have had to move schools.”

“You don’t think we’d have been friends?” Harry asked innocently, jogging to catch up as Malfoy made his way to the stairs.

Malfoy laughed. “Friends? I would have hated you even more.”

Harry had to agree. They climbed up to the second floor, which was surprisingly less well lit than the lower level. The velvet curtains were drawn and the air was getting that faintly musty smell of a house that was falling into disuse. Harry noticed that Malfoy kept casting glances at him, but Malfoy said nothing.

“I haven’t been up here much, recently,” Malfoy said after a few moments of silence where nothing but the soft fall of their feet on the carpet could be heard. “My bedroom is downstairs, and there was nothing I needed up here.”

Harry recognised the room where the three of them had been taken, as well as some rooms he had seen through Voldemort’s eyes, and found he didn’t blame him.

Finally, Malfoy led them into a large room near the back of the house. The room was lined with pristine black bookshelves filled with leatherbound volumes; enough to rival most libraries Harry had seen. The curtains were even thicker in here than in the rest of the house. Malfoy pulled out his wand and cast Lumos. “Don’t want anyone seeing us through the windows,” he muttered before stopping and looking around.

Harry looked at him. “Where do you want to start?” he asked after a pause.

Malfoy looked almost overwhelmed. “Do you think we look while we’re here, or take them back?” he asked.

Both prospects were daunting. “Shall we narrow it down here and take the best back?” Harry asked.

Malfoy nodded and they split up.

“What am I looking for?” Harry asked after about five minutes of looking closely at the shelves and realising he had no idea what the collection contained.

Malfoy made a derisive sound from the other side of the room. “Honestly, Potter, how did you even pass your subjects at school?”

“Hermione,” Harry answered promptly.

“Figures,” Malfoy muttered. He ran his fingers across the shelves and plucked off three thick volumes. “Here, look at these.”

Harry sat down in one of the leather armchairs and opened the first book.

“Urgh,” he said involuntarily. “You do this for fun?”

“Some of us have an intellect,” Malfoy said airily. “Look for anything to do with notorious dark objects. Maybe a notable invisibility cloak, or powerful gem. Anything. Don’t bother reading the chapters now, we can do that back home.” Malfoy’s voice stuttered on the word home, but Harry pretended not to notice. He glanced up at the pile of books Malfoy was selecting as useful and was suddenly devastated that Dave hadn’t been free for lunch until the day after tomorrow. If Malfoy was anything like Hermione, Harry was definitely going to spend all of tomorrow going cross-eyed looking at pages so old the ink was almost invisible.

Harry decided the books Malfoy had given him were as good as any other and added them to the ‘keep’ pile. After several minutes of further searching, Harry realised that he was spending more time casting glances at Malfoy than assessing the library. He mentally shook himself and tried to focus. It was difficult, because the more he focused, the more he noticed the silence of the room. And that meant that he had to notice how relaxed the silence was. And that meant he had to notice Malfoy, and wonder why on earth he was already as comfortable with Malfoy as he was with Ron and Hermione.

Malfoy looked up at Harry, his expression unreadable in the low light. He seemed to be lost in thought. Then he noticed Harry watching him and gave a small start. The open surprise on his face in that moment made a striking comparison to his usual demeanor. It was such an unguarded expression. Harry thought it suited him, just as the casual laughter had.

“Oh!” Malfoy said suddenly, his expression changing to excitement. “Wait!” He put down his books and ran out of the room before Harry could say anything.

He was back in seconds, a thick leatherbound book in his hands.

“What’s that?” Harry asked, looking at it curiously.

“I’ve no idea,” Malfoy said, his voice slightly awed. “Father paid an exorbitant amount for it when he was young. It’s meant to be a relic of Salazar Slytherin’s. Father never showed it to Voldemort, because he knew that Voldemort would want to claim it as his own.”

Harry ran his hand along the cover. It had a small metal clasp in the shape of a snake. He pressed it, but nothing happened. Malfoy looked up at Harry, his expression hesitant and almost embarrassed. “When the rumours spread about how you opened the Chamber of Secrets, I always wondered if you would be able to open this.”

Harry had a sudden vision of twelve year old Malfoy staring in fury at his favourite family heirloom and wondering if his most hated rival could know its secrets. He grinned. “That must have killed you,” he said.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “Don’t keep me waiting any longer, Potter,” he said, his voice dangerous. “Salazar Slytherin was power-hungry and cunning. If there is any text exploring the possibility of powerful, magical objects - a text that Dumbledore couldn’t access - it would be this.”

Harry stared at him a split second before turning to the clasp and willing it to flicker in the wand-light.

“Open,” he said, when he saw the eyes glint with life. His voice made a soft hiss in the quiet of the room.

Malfoy drew a sharp breath at the sound, and they both watched as the clasp slithered free. He opened the book carefully. Tiny writing covered page after page, scratched in a steady, meticulous hand.

“Potter,” Malfoy said slowly, his voice slightly unsteady. “This is his research.”

“Research into what?” Harry asked, trying to keep himself from getting too excited. There was no guarantee Salazar Slytherin had found anything that was useful to them, no matter how powerful and ambitious he was.

“Everything,” Malfoy muttered, flicking through the pages. “Everything he thought might give him power. Spells. People. Objects.”

“Anything about a cloak or a stone?” Harry asked hopefully.

“Not yet,” Malfoy replied.

He turned the page and Harry saw a small drawing. “That’s it!” he said, just stopping himself from stabbing the page with his finger and probably ruining the parchment. “That’s the sign of the hallows.”

Malfoy stopped turning and glanced at Harry, his eyes wide. He turned back to the page.

“ _The stone of wisdom grants the possessor infinite knowledge,_ ” he read. “That doesn’t sound right. I thought you said it was meant to bring people back from the dead?”

“It is,” Harry said, disappointed. “Maybe he drew the wrong stone.”

“ _Although the stone will bond with a wizard, it is easily passed from person to person through gift or theft. Possessors beware: guard the stone of wisdom with care. Its power grows over time as it builds the wisdom of the dead._ ”

“Wait, what?” Harry asked, frowning.

Malfoy looked up at him, equally puzzled. “I don’t know,” he said. “The wisdom of the dead?”

An idea started to take shape in Harry’s mind, but he didn’t want to say anything until he was sure he was right. “I suppose, collectively, the dead are wise,” he said slowly.

A look of understanding went through Malfoy’s eyes. “How did you say the stone worked again?” he asked.

“I was able to speak to my parents, Sirius, and Remus,” Harry said, fighting to keep down his excitement. “They were with me for as long as I was holding the stone.”

“You could ask them anything,” Malfoy said, the expression in his eyes mirroring Harry’s. “But it didn’t really bring them back to life, did it? They were never resurrected.”

Harry shook his head. “They were only shades of themselves.”

“So Beedle got the name wrong,” Malfoy said, the excitement in his voice no longer carefully contained. “Because, let’s face it, resurrecting the dead makes a much cooler fairytale than infinite wisdom.”

“But that’s really what you’re getting, isn’t it?” Harry said, unable to stop the grin from spreading across his face. “The ability to talk to anyone who has ever lived. To ask them anything.”

“Infinite wisdom,” Malfoy uttered, sounding breathless.

They stared at each other for several seconds before Harry whooped and punched the air. “We were right! There is more to the Hallows than Dumbledore thought!”

Malfoy pointed his wand at the stack of books they had selected, making them hover in the air by his side where he could lay a hand on them. “Come on, Potter,” he said, holding out his arm. “Let’s go find out what the others do.”

 

**Chapter Ten**

 

When they arrived home there was an owl from Shacklebot waiting for them.

_Please examine the attached memory and advise any new identifications._

Harry plucked the vial of silver liquid from the letter and held it up to the light.

“I told Shacklebot I had a Pensieve,” Malfoy said, watching the vial with an expression of distaste. “So perhaps this is his way of confirming I won’t need to go into the Ministry as often. He might let me just look at them all here.”

“Sounds as though he wants us both to look at this one,” Harry said, glancing at Malfoy to see if that was alright with him. He didn’t want to push in on something that Malfoy might want to experience alone.

Malfoy nodded. “Shall we get it over with?” He set the floating pile of books down on the coffee table and walked upstairs.

Harry followed, wondering if Malfoy would prefer he ignored the apprehension on Malfoy’s face, or if he should say something.

“Well, come on then, Potter,” Malfoy turned around and snapped.

Harry realised he had been slowing down to think, and quickly caught up to Malfoy in the sitting room with the Pensieve. The chest snapped at him, but he avoided it smoothly and sat down.

Malfoy poured the memory in and leaned over without waiting for Harry.

Harry leaned over the Pensieve and found himself suddenly back in Malfoy Manor. Malfoy stood next to him, watching something intently. Harry turned to see two Death Eaters talking. One was reclined lazily on one of Malfoy’s armchairs, while the other stood in front of the fire, prodding it. Several other Death Eaters stood around, looking aloof or relaxed - it was obviously one of their memories they were witnessing, since most of them were in Azkaban. It all reminded Harry strangely of the Slytherin common room, when he had seen it during their investigations in second year.

“That’s Twilfitt,” Malfoy said, crossing his arms and nodding to the man in front of the fire. “And I’ve never seen the man on the couch.”

“But you know everyone else in the room?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, Malfoy said without looking. His voice sounded bitter. “You don’t know the man?” he asked Harry.

Harry shook his head.

Malfoy shrugged. “Let’s get out of here then.” He made to leave.

“Hang on,” Harry said, holding a hand out to stop him. “What if Twilfitt says something about the wand?”

Malfoy sneered. “He isn’t about to say anything in a room full of Death Eaters, Potter. Use your head. They’re competition. You know, I think you were lying when you said the hat wanted to put you in Slytherin. You don’t have an ounce of cunning in you. It was your unbridled jealousy of me that made you say something so stupid - It’s alright, I understand.” He patted Harry comfortingly on the back.

“Of the two of us, I’m the only one to have foiled an evil wizard,” Harry said, shooting a glare at Malfoy. “So if I say that we should pay attention, we should pay attention.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Fine, Savior. What are they talking about?”

Harry listened closely.

The nameless man was shaking his head. “Couldn’t find him,” he said.

“Where did you look?” Twilfitt asked, his expression unimpressed.

“The usual hideouts,” the man replied, his thick eyebrows knitting together fiercely. “No one there.”

“I still don’t understand why The Dark Lord picked you,” Twilfitt muttered, levitating a small stick and hurling it into the fire. “I _know_ him. It’s my field. I know who he might contact for refuge.”

Nameless smirked. “You don’t have The Dark Lord’s trust,” he said smugly. “Doesn’t matter if you swapped sewing spells.”

Twilfitt glared at him. Before he could speak, the memory dissolved and Harry and Malfoy ricocheted back into their seats.

“Learn anything useful, oh foiler of dastardly plots?” Malfoy taunted. He leaned back in his chair and rested his fingers on his temples.

“Yes, actually,” Harry said, enjoying the look of surprise on Malfoy’s face. “Unless Voldemort made a habit of chasing down seamstresses?”

“He recruited anyone of worth,” Malfoy said, eying Harry suspiciously. “So it wouldn’t be that abnormal if they were useful to him in some way, regardless of occupation.” His eyes suddenly widened in understanding. “You think he was after the cloak?”

“Makes sense,” Harry said. “And Twilfitt was clearly sticking his nose in. What if he found out? That’s two out of three Hallows that Twilfitt could have known about.”

Malfoy made a face. “You’re stretching things a bit, Potter,” he said. “Don’t get too excited. It fits, but there could be any number of reasons why The Dark Lord was chasing this mystery person.” Malfoy closed his eyes. “I might just sit here a while,” he said, his voice sounding suddenly drained.

Harry watched him. “Why do you do it, if it affects you this badly?”

Malfoy’s eyes slid open, so that he was watching Harry through small slits. “Why do you care?” he asked. “I’ve given you the answer. You just laughed.”

Harry paused. “Well, it seems more plausible now,” he said finally.

Malfoy continued to watch him. After a few moments, he said “I do it because I think it’s the right thing to do, and because I like to make my own decisions on what is right and wrong.”

Harry frowned. “You followed Voldemort,” he said. “He was kind of big on dictating what was wrong.”

Malfoy sneered. “No, my father followed Voldemort. My father also never had one thought of his own. That might be forgivable as a teenager, but not as a grown man.” He shrugged. “I’m not saying I thought he was wrong. I’ve said it before, the evidence is there. Muggles have never liked us. But the fact remains that my father willingly let someone else rule his life and make his decisions. So did every other Death Eater. They let one wizard rule them, and stood back while he dictated the terms of his rule with terror and violence. Tell me, why should I bow to anyone, Potter?” Malfoy looked him in the eye, his gaze unwavering.

Harry didn’t have an answer. “So, you’ll put yourself through hell, ostracize yourself from everyone you love, all so that you can be in charge of your own decisions?” he asked finally.

Malfoy’s lip quirked. “I love no one, Potter,” he said, his voice thick with something like amusement. “I loved my father, but he was dead to me before the Kiss. I love my mother, but I can’t free her. I would have done anything for my family. I would have done anything to save them, but now they’re gone. There is no one else. Only me.”

Harry remembered Malfoy from the first Pensieve memories, trying to divert Voldemort’s headquarters from his family home. Now he had no family and he wasn’t safe in his home. Harry would have thought that when Malfoy had nothing left, he would run like a coward. Now it seemed that without his family, there was no one left to be scared for and no need to run. He wondered when it was that Malfoy had changed from being afraid for himself to being afraid for his family, and why Harry had never realised that Malfoy was so defined by loyalty and pride. It was a strange kind of bravery. It wasn’t noble, but he stood for something. He stood for himself, and was happy to stand alone if that’s what it meant.

For the first time, Harry found himself admiring Malfoy. He wondered vaguely if he should ask Ginny to check his temperature.

As if summoned by thought, Ginny’s owl flew in the open door.

“Oh no,” Harry muttered involuntarily, reading Ginny’s short message. He could probably more accurately call it a summons.

“What is it?” Malfoy asked, looking delighted.

“You’re invited,” Harry said, shooting him a grin.

Malfoy’s face fell. “Oh no. What is it?” He asked, his tone suddenly horrified.

“Double date,” Harry said with a groan. “Well, triple technically. Ginny wants to try bowling tonight. It’s a Muggle thing. She thought it wouldn’t be as fun with four people, so you’re invited to bring a date. That’s a bit presumptuous of her,” he muttered. “How does she think you can get a date so quickly?”

Malfoy looked offended. “What makes you think I can’t, Potter?” he said, lifting his nose into the air. He paused. “Only, assuming that your own date is of the male persuasion, it would involve someone else knowing your secret.”

Harry was oddly touched that Malfoy would overlook his apparent hatred of Harry’s date to acknowledge that Harry wasn’t openly dating. He considered what Malfoy had said.

“No,” he said slowly. “That’s okay. It’s not like anyone you bring will be likely to tell any of my friends, and even if they did they’d all assume they were lying. So I don’t think it matters at the moment.”

“Done. Where are we meeting?” Malfoy asked.

Harry told him the address and Malfoy left to send an owl. Edgar still wasn’t back, so Harry tied his message to Ginny’s owl, thankful that he was familiar enough for the owl to listen to, and then tied a second message for Ginny, agreeing to a seven o’clock meeting.

Looking at the clock, he realised that really wasn’t very far away. He hoped that it wasn’t too late notice for Dave, because otherwise he would be the only one without a date. Harry cast a longing glance at the pile of books, thinking it was absolutely ridiculous that they were the preferred option, and went upstairs to change.

Dave said yes, and he and Malfoy ended up leaving on time to meet Ginny outside the Muggle bowling alley.

“Where are your dates?” Ginny asked, looking concerned as they walked over to her.

“Meeting outside,” Harry said. “Where’s yours?”

“Same,” Ginny said, looking at her watch. Shouldn’t be far. “There she is!” Ginny smiled and waved at the tall blonde Harry recognised from the speed dating night.

Ginny gave her a kiss on the cheek and guided her over to Harry and Malfoy.

“Christa, this is Harry and Draco,” she said with a smile.

Harry mumbled a “nice to meet you”, while Draco stuck out his hand and gave a winning smile. Harry mentally kicked him in the shins for being a slimy git and coming off better than Harry.

“Harry,” a warm voice said with obvious pleasure. Harry turned around to see Dave walking over. Before Harry could say anything, Dave leaned down to give him a kiss on the cheek before coming to stand next to Harry with his hand resting lightly on Harry’s back. Harry blinked in surprise and tried to cover it by quickly introducing him to the group.

He noticed Malfoy stiffened, but said nothing.

Then Malfoy’s date apparated and walked over.

“Zabini?” Harry and Ginny both said in shock.

“Weasley, Potter,” Blaise Zabini said with a nod to each, a grimace on his face.

Malfoy smirked and introduced him to the others since Harry and Ginny had both become temporarily useless. Harry felt Dave stiffen in surprise, but he was too busy looking at Zabini to think about why.

“But you hate blood-traitors,” he said dumbly. He, Ginny and Malfoy were all technically in that category. He would have thought that Zabini would have been one of the people who would have turned their back on Malfoy, but here he was at a Muggle venue as Malfoy’s date.

"Zabini’s parents were never Death Eaters,” Malfoy said lightly, a subtle explanation on his opinion of Malfoy at least.

Zabini sneered. “My parents have recently decided it would be a good idea for me to broaden my horizons since the war,” he said. “It would seem that the future is clear, whether we like it or not.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the expression on Zabini’s face. “Whatever works for you,” he said, shaking his head.

“Shall we go in?” Ginny asked, looking equally amused.

They filed in, but Dave pulled Harry back gently. In a smooth movement, he swept the hair back from Harry’s face. Harry felt slightly uncomfortable at the tender gesture, until he realised that Dave was looking intently at Harry’s forehead. He hadn’t even thought to hide his scar tonight.

“Harry Potter,” he said quietly. He smiled, looking surprised and pleased. “When would you have told me that?”

To Harry’s amazement, he found himself smiling, almost flirting. “Third date?” he suggested lightly.

Dave laughed. Harry realised that Dave’s hand was still resting on his head. He coughed awkwardly and stepped back. “Shall we go inside?” he asked.

Dave nodded and they joined the others. They were already putting on their shoes, Ginny and Christa looking very dubious, while Malfoy inspected a bowling ball with interest.

“So, you throw it?” he asked, turning it over.

“Down the aisle, yes,” Ginny said.

“Any aisle?” Malfoy asked.

“I’m not sure,” Ginny said, frowning.

“No,” Harry said firmly. “Only your own aisle.”

Malfoy looked disappointed.

Harry and Dave put on their shoes and they split into two teams, dates versus dates.

As the only person who had every bowled before, Harry went first, demonstrating as best he could how to throw the ball correctly. He got a strike and Ginny clapped hysterically. “Go Harry!”

He grinned and stepped back so that Christa could try. Christa rolled an immediate gutter-ball. She stepped back looking upset. Ginny swooped forward and gave her a big kiss on the cheek.

Harry stared in astonishment, thinking it must be ridiculously easy for women to date women, since their relationships were already so touchy-feely.

Ginny stepped up and rolled what Harry suspected was a deliberate gutter-ball, considering how good he knew she was at sports. Then Dave rolled a strike and whooped. Harry grinned and clapped when Dave caught his eye, but he felt a little awkward and unsure if he should do something more. Zabini looked his way and smirked.

Malfoy picked up the ball and stepped up. Harry thought how strange it was to see him dressed in his impeccable dark jeans and black shirt, his hair swept back and dyed, and then to see the bright orange bowling shoes. His lip quirked as he looked him up and down.

He saw Dave turn to look at him and he immediately dropped his gaze from Malfoy to the lane, watching intently as Malfoy rolled the ball. The ball looked like it was about to skim the edge before making a wide curve and coming in for a strike.

Harry eyed Malfoy suspiciously.

“Pure skill,” Malfoy said airily while Zabini snorted.

Christa and Ginny got the hang of it, and they were soon engaged in a full blown competition. Harry thought that the consistency of strikes was distinctly suspicious, but no one brought it up.

“Potter, you’re doing it all wrong,” Malfoy called out when Harry moved up to throw.

Harry snorted and turned back to Malfoy. “What, and you’d know in the grand total of twenty minutes you’ve spent playing?”

Malfoy made a show of mock despair. “I didn’t choose greatness,” he proclaimed. He stood up and walked over to Harry. Harry was alarmed to realise how much Malfoy’s walk resembled a predatory strut. “Here, Potter, you need to hold it like this,” he said. “We’re never going to win if you let down the team like this.”

Malfoy slid his hand over Harry’s to readjust his grip. Harry flinched. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dave move to stand up. But he would never know what Dave was about to do, because at that moment surprised shouts filled the air and they saw a small silver rabbit hopping madly over to them.

Harry calmly obliviated anyone he could see while the patronus came to a stop in front of Ginny.

“There’s someone in the house. Your father’s been attacked!” the rabbit whispered in Molly Weasley’s voice before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

Harry stiffened. The words sent a chill through him, although he knew that the situation was different now and an attack shouldn’t mean what it used to. But it could. They ran outside, abandoning their game. Ginny and her date apparated immediately, leaving the others behind.

“I have to go and make sure they’re okay,” Harry said to Dave. “But you don’t have to. I’m sorry to call it short.”

Dave shook his head. “I’ll come,” he said. “If that’s alright,” he added.

Harry hesitated, but nodded. There was no reason anymore to keep the Burrow hidden.

“I’d better go with him,” Malfoy said to Zabini, jerking his head at Harry. “Long story.”

Zabini made a face. “Count me out. This is as much culture shock as I can take in one night.” He nodded to Harry and Dave before turning back to Malfoy. “Wasn’t too bad,” he said, smirking. “Owl me again. Glad you’re alright.”

Malfoy nodded before Zabini apparated.

“I’ll follow,” he said curtly. “I know where it is.”

Harry nodded and turned on the spot, taking Dave with him to the Burrow.

The house was in chaos. He found Ginny in the living room, hovering over Mr Weasley who was resting in an armchair. Furniture and possessions were strewn across every walk space, and George was running in and out of the rooms, his wand raised, looking for intruders.

He spotted Malfoy and slid to a halt. “Don’t move,” he said, his voice containing a vicious edge Harry had never heard before.

Harry held up his hand. “He’s with me,” he said.

“Oh, right, I forgot. Sorry, Harry,” he said. “Can I hex him anyway? For practice?”

Harry laughed, but George had already run on, too distracted to pay attention.

Dave looked around in concern. Before he could say anything, Mrs Weasley launched herself onto Harry, smothering him with a hug. “Thank heavens you’re alright!” she burst out, her voice breaking. “They were looking for something, and they obviously didn’t find it. And what could they possibly be looking for here? So I knew they must be after you and I knew you were with Ginny, and I’m so glad they didn’t find you.”

Harry gently extracted himself from Mrs Weasleys bear hug and tried to soothe her. “It’s okay,” he said. “It was probably just a random robbery. If it wasn’t, they would have come looking for us, wouldn’t they? Is Mr Weasley okay?”

“He’s fine, just a little shaken,” Mrs Weasley said, waving her hand. “They were still here when we came home, and that’s when I sent the patronus to warn you, but I think they’ve gone now. They only stunned him. I thought it was worse, but he’ll be fine.” She bustled off, sweeping Ginny into a massive hug and saying the same things she had said to Harry.

Harry shot Malfoy a look. Malfoy’s expression told him that he was thinking the same thing: the Elder wand. Dave watched them but didn’t say anything.

“I might help George,” Harry said. “Make sure the place is clear, and then I think we’ll leave them.” Dave and Malfoy nodded, moving to search the place, but Mrs Weasley’s gasp stopped them in their tracks.

They whirled around, wands raised, to see her standing with her hands over her mouth. Christa was holding Ginny close, their body language unmistakable.

Ginny lifted her head, still in Christa’s arms, and sighed. She gently stepped back. Harry immediately moved forward, he didn’t even think. He rested his hand on her shoulder.

“I’m gay,” she said. She looked at Harry.

Harry’s lip quirked. He couldn’t believe the timing of this, but he had promised Ginny to stand with her when it happened. They hadn’t expected to have their dates standing to the side, but, after all, their dates could be temporary. Ginny needed someone who would be with her for the long term to support her. “Me too,” he said, unable to help from pulling a face. Ginny grinned.

Mrs Weasley looked back and forth between them, her hands over her mouth. Mr Weasley struggled into a sitting position.

“But, but you two,” she looked between them. Then she looked at Christa. She looked back at Ginny. She dropped her hands. After an agonizing wait, she finally said “I’m going to have two daughters?” Then she squealed and pulled Ginny into a hug. Somehow she managed to make the hug include Harry and Christa, before she stood back and looked at Malfoy and Dave.

“So, then, Harry?” she asked, mopping her eyes.

“Er, this is Dave,” he said, standing beside Dave.

Mrs Weasley stepped up and immediately swept him into a hug. “It’s wonderful to meet you,” she said. “I’m sorry it isn’t under better circumstances.”

Mr Weasley stood up and shook his hand, looking distinctly less peaky.

When Harry, Malfoy and Dave finally managed to say their goodbyes and make their way down the path, Harry was feeling considerably lighter.

“That has to be one of the best coming-out conversations I’ve ever seen,” Dave said with a grin. “What on earth were you worried for?”

Harry shrugged. “Well,” he trailed off. “I don’t know. I suppose they aren’t actually that conventional, are they?”

Dave laughed. They reached the end of the gate and Malfoy bent down to admire the Weasley letterbox. Harry was confused until he realised Malfoy was being remarkably tactful.

“Thank you for one of the most interesting nights I’ve had in a while,” Dave said with a grin, eying the house. “I feel privileged to have witnessed that, although I hope the attacker doesn’t come back.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “Thank you for staying,” he said with a grin.

Dave smiled at him. Before Harry could realise what was happening, Dave had bent down and brushed his lips lightly against Harry’s. Dave smiled without moving away, his breath soft against Harry’s skin.

Harry was acutely aware of Malfoy kneeling three metres behind them, but then he remembered that they had resolved whatever it was that had happened between he and Malfoy, and he brought his hands up to Dave’s face and kissed him back. Dave’s lips were softer than Malfoy’s, and there wasn’t that same furious anger challenging the kiss. It was sweet and pleasant. Harry drew back with a smile.

“Good time to mention I have to cancel tomorrow?” Dave said, still smiling. “But I’ll owl you.”

Harry nodded and Dave apparated after another quick kiss.

Harry turned to see that Malfoy had stood up and was watching him, but it was too dark for Harry to see his expression. Neither of them spoke for a few moments.

“Come on,” Malfoy said, holding out his arm to Harry. His voice was slightly rough. “I’m cold.”

Harry took his arm and they apparated home.

 

**Chapter Eleven**

 

 

Harry was surprised to find himself alone at breakfast the next morning. He had already determined that Malfoy was an early riser, but he hadn’t realised that he had become used to having Malfoy at the table with him.

When he finished, he went into the living room to begin looking through the books they had brought back yesterday and realised that Malfoy was already awake.

“Morning,” Malfoy said without looking up from Salazar Slytherin’s journal. Harry looked at the pile of books next to him and wondered what the chances were that Malfoy had already read them all. “Start reading, Potter,” Malfoy said, destroying his hopes.

Harry sat down with a sigh and picked up the book at the top of the stack.

“The Salem Witch Trials?” Harry read out loud, looking up at Malfoy dubiously.

“One of the largest magic exposures in Muggle history,” Malfoy said, marking his place and looking up at Harry. “Witches and wizards everywhere were desperate to stop it before it became worse. I imagine that some of them would have sought powerful objects to help them. And that author is particularly keen on the history of dark artifacts, so his recording of the trials may have a bias.” He turned back to his book.

Harry decided to simply accept that he was out of his depth when it came to Malfoy and Hermione, and set to searching for any mention of cloaks, stones or wands.

After an hour of fighting to stay awake, Harry was thrilled to see Edgar fly in through the open window. He reached up and almost snatched Edgar out of the air, eagerly grabbing the package from his claws. Edgar gave a relieved hoot and flew off to his perch for owl treats and water.

Malfoy watched curiously as Harry ripped open the package. A shiny red and gold book dropped into his lap. Harry nearly groaned at the sight of another book until he saw the title: _Seeker Training Manual._ There was a piece of parchment in the front cover.

_I was pleased to hear from you, Harry,_ Krum wrote. _I have always said that your talent as a Seeker should not go to waste. I have recommended you to my captain, who will pass on his regards to the English quidditch captain. With luck, you may hear from them. In the meantime, please accept this training manual, which will hopefully prepare you for the level of skill required as a professional Seeker. It will take more than just raw talent, so practice well. - Krum._

“Brilliant!” Harry exclaimed picking the book up and turning it over.

“Don’t get distracted now, Potter,” Malfoy warned, although his eyes were bright with interest as he eyed the book in Harry’s hands. “Work before play.”

Harry passed over the book and the note for Malfoy to look at.

“So this is why you’ve been interested in practicing?” Malfoy said. He looked up at Harry curiously. “I thought you were going into Auror training.”

Harry shrugged. “I thought about it.” he hesitated. “But I think I’ve had enough danger for now.” He pulled a face and added drily, “it would be nice to focus on something I enjoy, instead of, you know, saving the world.”

Malfoy eyed him speculatively. “I would have thought you’d jump at the chance to play hero again,” he said.

Harry snorted. “You really never knew me very well, did you?”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He put the book down next to him. “Now, Potter, you can have a break in an hour,” he said, adopting a teacher’s tone.

Harry rolled his eyes and turned to pick up his book again, before realising that another piece of parchment had fallen out of the packaging. “It’s from Ron and Hermione,” he said, beaming as he picked up the scroll.

Malfoy wrinkled his nose in mock distaste, before suddenly looking up. “Oh yeah,” he said hesitantly. “I had a question for you, Potter.”

“Mmm?” Harry said, tearing his eyes away from Hermione’s neat handwriting.

“I enjoyed seeing Zabini last night,” he said, still speaking carefully. “I’d like to see him again.”

Harry frowned, unsure why this affected him.

“But I can’t really go out in public,” Malfoy continued, looking at Harry as if he was simple.

Harry paused. “Oh, right,” he said as it hit him. “You’d need him to come here, wouldn’t you?”

Malfoy nodded. Harry was surprised that Malfoy didn’t launch into a multitude of reasons why he should be allowed a visitor.

“Well, I suppose that’s fine,” Harry said finally. He couldn’t think of a reason why Zabini couldn’t visit. It wasn’t as if Zabini would be able to give away their secret. It was only his own personal dislike for the guy that would make him turn him away, and that was hardly fair to Malfoy. “Do you want to tell him to apparate a couple of streets over, and then I’ll go fetch him and tell him the address?” He asked.

Malfoy grinned and nodded, before whistling for his owl. Harry turned back to his letter.

_Dear Harry,_ Hermione wrote.

_We are having a fantastic time in Bulgaria! There is so much more to do here than in Romania, although that may only be because Viktor is so much more sociable than Charlie. You wouldn’t think it, would you? He has taken us to so many wonderful restaurants and clubs, and we’ve only been here a couple of days. It seems that if you’re an international quidditch star, you get to know all the best places. Only yesterday we_

_Hi Harry,_ Ron’s messy scrawl suddenly took over. _I tried to tell ‘Mione not to bore you with all the day-to-day stuff, but she wouldn’t listen._ A mess of ink scratched along the page as some kind of struggle obviously took place. _Alright, fine,_ Ron continued. _She took on board my suggestion_ , Harry smiled as he heard Hermione dictating through the words. _But thought you would nonetheless appreciate to hear the finer details of the trip, because you are cultured and polite. Her words, not mine. I don’t think you’re cultured and polite at all, because that would make you a git._ A small blob of ink took the place of the next word. _Alright, fine! You would probably love to hear all about the sodding places that ‘Viktor’ has taken us but we don’t have much time, so I think it’s much better to just say ‘Hi’ and that we miss you (no, really, Hermione isn’t just making me write that) and we hope you’ve put Malfoy in a full body bind at least twice. I mean, we hope that you haven’t had to hex him at all, because that would be impolite and uncultured. Which you are not. Bye, mate! See you soon!_

_Miss you Harry!_ Hermione’s neat handwriting came back. _Can’t wait to see you. We visit Nurmengard in two days - probably tomorrow by the time this reaches you - so I’m sure you’ll want to hear all about that. We might try to Floo you! Much love - Hermione and Ron._

Harry shook his head in an effort to wipe the silly smile off his face. He glanced up at Malfoy, who thankfully was not watching, and called a new book over to him, having decided that the Salem Witch Trials had nothing new to offer.

He opened the new book without reading the title - something about famous thieves and thefts. He felt a soft whoosh of air, and then it felt suddenly as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He doubled over. Through the fog of his addled brain, he heard a noise that sounded like concern, but he was unable to process who it could have come from.

The pain subsided and he managed to straighten up. Across the room, he saw Malfoy looking at him with shock and something that looked strangely like worry. He frowned. What was Malfoy doing in his living room?

He fumbled for his wand and pointed it at Malfoy. “What the hell are you doing here?” He snarled. Malfoy reeled back as if Harry had hit him. Harry stood up and began backing toward the door. He looked around as he went. “Where’s the Order?” he asked. “Where’s Dumbledore?”

Malfoy’s face paled, but Harry barely noticed. Malfoy made to stand, but Harry pointed his wand back at Malfoy’s chest. “Don’t even think about it, Malfoy,” he spat. “Stay where you are.”

Malfoy held up his hands slowly. “Potter,” he said. “Calm down. You’ve been hit by something.”

“You, probably,” Harry said with a bitter laugh. “What did you do to me?”

Malfoy laughed, but it was curiously devoid of humor. It sounded almost despairing. “Nothing, Potter,” he said. He paused, looking at Harry’s wand. “Harry, please listen to me.”

Harry’s jaw dropped in shock. “What did you just say?”

“Harry, you’ve lost your memory, but it’s hopefully temporary,” Malfoy said, keeping very still. “The war is over. You won. You killed the Da- Voldemort. We don’t hate each other anymore.” He paused. “We’re friends.”

Harry barked a laugh. “Friends? Why the hell would we be friends?”

Malfoy froze, before his lip quirked bitterly. “I’ve no idea,” he said finally.

Harry frowned. The look in Malfoy’s eyes was familiar. He’d seen that look before. Late at night, when his father had been given the Kiss.

He dropped his wand in shock, his memories returning. “Oh, shit,” he said, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry, Malfoy. I didn’t remember.”

Malfoy relaxed slightly, although his expression didn’t change. “All came flooding back, did it?” he asked, looking away. He dropped his hands back down onto his lap now that Harry was no longer pointing a wand at him. “Don’t worry, Potter. Must have been an anti-theft spell. Made to disorient you and make you forget why you were reading the book until someone could come and capture you.” He turned back to his book.

Harry watched him helplessly, unsure why the look of bitter pain on Malfoy’s face was making him feel so awful. “Malfoy,” he said. Malfoy didn’t look up. “Draco,” he said hesitantly.

Malfoy’s head whipped up sharply. “I said forget it, Potter,” he snapped.

Harry flinched. Then, as his mind started to return to normal, he realised he was angry. “Well, what did you mean you’ve no idea why we’re friends?” Harry snapped back. “You could have said anything: you grew a backbone; I got a handle on my temper; we got to know each other instead of just hexing blindly at the sound of each others' name. Anything.”

Malfoy’s eyes flashed. “I grew a backbone? So I’m suddenly good enough for you, is that it, Potter?”

“What?” Harry frowned. “How can you turn “growing a backbone” into a bad thing? Yeah, you’re a better person now. Shouldn’t you be proud of that?”

Malfoy shoved the book aside and stood up. “That’d be right,” he spat. “I should have guessed. Proud of the converted Death Eater, are you? Want to show him off to all your friends?” He pulled out his wand and aimed it at Harry. Against his will, Harry’s eyes slid to the scar running along Malfoy’s neck and further down, hidden under his shirt. Malfoy watched him. He smirked. “Want another go, Potter? I’ll be a bit quicker this time.”

Harry stared at him, wondering what nerve he had struck to trigger this response. The expression of pain was still on Malfoy’s face, although now it was hidden by a sneer. He didn’t want to fight Malfoy, but he didn’t know what to do instead. If he did nothing, Malfoy would probably walk away, but that felt too much like Ron walking away from him when he had believed Harry was hungry for fame. He didn’t want that either, which left him in unfamiliar territory.

“No, I don’t want another go, Malfoy,” he said quietly. “I never wanted ‘a go’ in the first place. It was an accident. I didn’t know what the spell did. And no, now that you mention it, I don’t want to show you off to all my bloody friends like some kind of trick-performing pet. That’s not how you treat someone who is brave and loyal.”

Malfoy stared at him in disbelief. Harry kept talking. “You’re as loyal to your family as anyone I ever saw in the Order,” Harry said with a small laugh. “Your family just made you do different things to prove it. And I always thought you were a coward, but you were just a kid. And when you were old enough to be more than just a kid, you proved you were a better man than your father. You didn’t turn me in to Voldemort. You even let me escape - don’t think I don’t know you let me take those wands. You had three wands and I had nothing. You let us get away.”

Malfoy’s wand had lowered, but Harry wasn’t sure that Malfoy even noticed what his arm was doing. He was watching Harry intensely, his expression unreadable.

“You’re not a converted Death Eater,” Harry continued, trying to find the right words to convey what he meant. “I would never call you that, just like I would never call Snape a converted Death Eater. It's condescending. You're more than that. You turned your back on Voldemort, even though following him was all that was ever expected of you. And now that he's gone, you're doing what you have to in order to be true to what you think is right, despite the fact that no one sees any good in you for it. You don’t care how anyone else sees you, so long as you’re loyal to your family and to yourself.” He took a deep breath. “I admire you for that, Draco.”

Malfoy’s wand clattered to the floor. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t seem to find the words. Then something seemed to occur to him. He narrowed his eyes and said “that’s nothing new to the Savior. Nothing worth admiring.”

Harry laughed bitterly. “I never really had a choice in what to believe. Voldemort was evil. He killed my parents. I was destined to defeat him or die trying - or both, as it turned out. I never had to choose to be better than I should be. It’s easy to meet expectations when they’re expected of you. So I’m not being condescending when I say I admire you; I really do. You didn’t ‘suddenly become good enough for me’,” Harry mimicked Malfoy’s tone. “You’re loyal and brave. I just never saw it because it’s not the kind of bravery I ever had to have. And because you hid it by spending seven years acting like a spectacular git,” Harry finished in exasperation.

Malfoy stared at him. Finally, his lip quirked slightly. “So, you’re telling me that I’m better than you?” he said, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed.

“Steady on,” Harry said with a relieved grin.

“No, no,” Malfoy said. “I heard it very clearly, you can’t take it back now. You said ‘Draco, you are both braver than me and infinitely more handsome’. It was quite distinct.”

Harry hurled a cushion at him. Malfoy reached for his wand, but Harry was quicker.

“Accio Malfoy’s wand,” he said, grinning as the wand flew into his hand.

Malfoy glared at him. “That’s not fair,” he said.

Harry twirled the wand between his fingers. It felt strangely light, like his own wand. He pointed it experimentally at the couch and flicked a couple of cushions around. “Hey, I can still use it,” he said in surprise.

“Well, you are a wizard,” Malfoy said drily. “Wizards tend to be able to do that sort of thing.”

“No, I mean it still feels like mine,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I was surprised at how well it took to me when I stole it off you, but I would have thought it would feel different now that I’ve given it back.”

Malfoy frowned. “It probably should,” he said dubiously. “Give it here.” He held out his hand.

Harry passed the wand over. Malfoy levitated the couch with a frown. “Still feels like mine,” he said slowly. “Give me yours.”

“Nice try.”

“No, seriously, give me yours.”

Harry sighed and passed over his wand, eying Malfoy warily. But Malfoy merely levitated the couch with Harry’s wand.

“Feels like mine, too,” he muttered, still frowning.

“Have you ever heard of that before?” Harry asked. “I thought wands were meant to bond distinctly to one wizard.”

“So did I.” Malfoy shrugged. “Maybe you confused the poor things when you used my wand for so long and then gave it back.”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe.”

Malfoy looked at the time and gave a start. “Zabini will be apparating nearby soon. Will we leave the research for now?”

Harry nodded and together they sent the books into various hidden alcoves around the room, to avoid drawing attention to what they were doing. Satisfied that it was discrete, Harry left to meet Zabini.

 

 

**Chapter Twelve**

 

 

“Potter,” Zabini said, looking Harry up and down with a grimace. “So it’s true then, you really are living together?”

“Got a problem with that?” Harry asked. If Zabini was going to cause trouble, he could leave now. Stuff Malfoy.

But Zabini only smirked and said, “amazed you haven’t killed each other yet.” Then he held out his arm as if he were escorting Harry instead of the other way around.

Harry apparated them both to the empty plot of land that marked number twelve and a half Grimmauld place and told Zabini the address. Zabini’s eyes widened in surprise as the house materialized in front of him.

“Neat,” he said, and stepped up to the door.

Malfoy opened the door before he reached it. “Welcome to Potter’s humble abode,” he said, his lip curling. “And believe me, it is humble.”

Zabini laughed and stepped through the door. Harry followed, rolling his eyes at Malfoy.

“If you two crazy kids need me, I’ll be in my room,” he said, taking his new Seeker’s handbook and heading up the stairs. Malfoy led Zabini into the living room with barely a nod in Harry’s direction.

Harry went up to his bedroom and settled down on the bed to read his training manual.

_A Seeker should never rely on only one of their five senses,_ he read. _But should use all five simultaneously,_ a _nd be able to instantly adjust to the sudden loss of one or more senses, such as can be caused by severe weather conditions. To prepare for this, Seekers should build up to the ability to perform a Seekers’ Run blindfold._

Harry raised his eyebrows at that, wondering how difficult it would be, and read on. The book outlined several ways to prepare for a blindfold Seekers’ Run, but Harry found that none of them really appealed to him. It seemed a strange way to learn how to practice for bad weather, since you were flooded with visual information during a storm. Flying in a storm wasn’t about learning how to fly and seek without visual information, it was about learning how to filter all the suddenly useless visual information that your body automatically wanted to prioritize.

He frowned and wondered if there were some localized weather spell he could use that would be better to learn with. But then that would make Malfoy fly equally as poorly, so they couldn’t really push each other to fly better if they both had the same handicap.

Then it hit him: the cloak. If the leader wore the cloak, the follower would have to match their movements while having no idea visually where they were, while simultaneously telling their brain to ignore the visual information that was insisting there was no one next to them. He grinned. Suddenly he was eager to go flying and try it out.

Since Zabini was downstairs, he contented himself for reading the first three chapters of the manual instead. The book was perfect; he felt an overwhelming urge to send Krum flowers.

He decided to savor the experience and set his book down. He moved over to his quidditch model, but found he was having trouble focusing on the strategy in play. Thinking about the cloak had got him wondering about the Hallows again. As much as he would be happy if he never had to read another history book again, he badly wanted to find out more about the stone of wisdom. It certainly seemed that Dumbledore hadn’t known that was the true purpose of the stone, which made Harry desperate to know if the other Hallows were also more than Dumbledore had thought they were. He knew it didn’t matter anymore, but what if someone was still after the Hallows? He had two of them after all; someone could come after him.

He wondered if Grindelwald had known more than Dumbledore had. It was more than likely, since they had traveled such different paths at the end. Which meant that whatever Grindelwald had known, Voldemort had known as well.

He moved the model brooms around idly, wishing there was some way he could have seen what Voldemort had torn from Grindelwald’s mind that night. He paused. He couldn’t know that, but maybe there was another way he could learn what Grindelwald had known. But Ron and Hermione would never go for it.

He looked at the time and jumped out of his seat. They were visiting Nurmengard tomorrow, if the owl hadn’t been delayed. He would have to Floo them now.

He ran quickly down the stairs, the thick carpet muffling his steps. He stepped into the living room, ready to ask Malfoy and Zabini if he could use the fire quickly, and stopped dead.

Zabini was stretched out on the couch over Malfoy, his arms resting either side of Malfoy’s head. Malfoy’s arms were wrapped around Zabini’s waist, Zabini’s shirt scrunched and disheveled in Malfoy’s hands. Harry must have made a sound, because Zabini’s head whipped up from Malfoy’s neck. He saw Harry standing there and smirked. Malfoy turned his head to the door and gave a start, his face flushed.

Harry immediately spun around and left, managing to squeak out something that was meant to be an apology. He walked into the kitchen since it was the easiest path to take and sat down. His heart was racing like he’d just sprinted. He’d had no idea that Zabini and Malfoy were together at all, so he hadn’t thought to knock or enter slowly. When Malfoy had brought Zabini the other night, Harry had never thought it was a proper date. They were friends, that was it, wasn’t it? Apparently not. Harry wasn’t sure why that gave him such an uncomfortable feeling.

He decided that he would rather face an army of Death Eaters than go back into his living room, so he put on the kettle and decided to wait until Zabini left. It was nearly dinner time, so he shouldn’t be staying much longer.

Sure enough, after less than ten minutes he heard the front door quietly close. Harry crossed his fingers and prayed to anyone listening that Malfoy would go straight upstairs.

Malfoy came in the kitchen door. “Heard of knocking, Potter?” he said with a sneer. His face was still slightly pink, but he had smoothed his hair down and looked relatively normal.

Not that Harry could look at him to confirm. “Heard of a bedroom, Malfoy?” he told the wall.

Malfoy snorted and moved behind Harry to the kettle. Harry jumped up. “I’m going to Floo Ron and Hermione,” he said, and moved to the door.

Malfoy made a noise like a protest. Involuntarily, Harry stopped and looked back. Malfoy’s face had an expression of faint confusion. Harry didn’t stay to find out why.

He walked into the living room and threw the powder into the fireplace, missing completely. He swore and kicked at the green powder staining the dark carpet. He scourified it and tried again. This time the fire flared green. He stuck his head through and said Krum’s address, hoping they were home.

He waited for the fire to confirm that Krum had accepted, and blinked up at the burly Seeker.

“Harry,” Krum said with a surprised grunt. “You received my gift?”

“I did,” Harry said with a grin. “It’s brilliant. Thank you. I’m going to start training later today I hope.”

Krum gave a pleased smile. “You have a training partner?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, another seeker. He’s a great flier, so hopefully those techniques will be good practice.”

Krum nodded and stood up. “You vill be after Hermy-own-nee and Ron?”

“If that’s alright?”

Krum nodded and went to fetch them. Before long Ron and Hermione entered the living room, looking down at the fire in surprise.

“Harry,” Ron said with a grin. “What’re you doing Flooing us for? We’re meant to Floo you.”

“That’s right, Harry,” Hermione added, kneeling to the floor in front of him. “It’s very expensive. Why didn’t you just owl us?” She looked concerned and faintly suspicious. Harry suppressed a grin.

“I’ll just be quick,” he said, looking around to see if Krum had followed them in. He hadn’t. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Hermione’s suspicious expression began to supersede her concern. Fortunately, Harry had already thought of the right way to twist the facts to make sure she couldn’t refuse.

“There’s a Death Eater after the Hallows,” he said quietly. Which could be true, they just weren’t sure. “And for some reason, he knows something about them that we don’t. Since I’ve got two of them, I’d like to know exactly what this guy knows, in case it helps me when he finally figures out I have them.”

Hermione frowned, while Ron looked stricken.

“Are you sure he’s going to come after you?” Hermione asked. “Maybe you should just report it to Shacklebot. You’re safer if you don’t go looking into it yourself.”

Harry shook his head. “The Elder Wand is mine. It doesn’t matter where I keep it, or who I get to protect it. If someone is after the wand they’re going to come after me. I need to know what they’re up to.”

Hermione pursed her lips, but didn’t disagree. “What do you need us to do?” she asked in a tone that suggested she had already guessed.

“I want you to look in Grindelwald’s library,” Harry said, somewhat sheepishly. Ron’s jaw dropped. “If anyone can find a useful book in a short amount of time, it’s you, Hermione.”

Hermione looked somewhat mollified at the compliment, although not convinced. “There’s bound to be anti-theft spells all over the place,” she said.

“You’ll be able to figure it out, I’m sure,” Harry said with a grin. If she was already talking about how to do it, she had agreed. She just didn’t want to admit it.

Ron looked from Hermione to Harry and back again. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked. “I hate to break it to you, but Grindelwald was _kind of_ a bad wizard, and you saw what the books in the Restricted Section of the library could do to you. Imagine the spells he’s got set up on his own library. Plus, surely other people would have gone through his collection? It would be valuable, wouldn’t it?”

Hermione shook her head. “It’s precisely because the collection is so valuable that it’s all still there,” she said. “It’s small, but it’s one of the most comprehensive collections of dark magic texts in the world. It’s kept under heavy guard at Grindelwald’s fortress to make sure that the books don’t get into the wrong hands and to keep their secrets. If you want to read one of the texts, you have to apply and provide all your research background to prove that you need the text and aren’t just looking out of curiosity. It actually goes completely against the ideals of freedom of information,” she said with a sniff. “But that’s a whole other issue.”

“So, you’re up for the challenge?” Harry said with a grin.

Ron looked at him askance, while Hermione merely frowned. “I don’t think you realise just how difficult it’s going to be,” she said warily. “And you haven’t given us much time.”

“But imagine how interesting his collection would be to read,” Harry said persuasively.

Hermione bit her lip. “I can’t promise anything,” she said finally. “But I’ll see what I can do.”

“You’re wonderful, Hermione,” Harry said, beaming up at her. She blushed.

Ron still looked worried, but he seemed resigned if Hermione had agreed. “If you’re sure,” he said hesitantly. “But you’ll be careful, right?”

Harry nodded. Ron suddenly grinned. “So, how’s Malfoy?” he asked eagerly. Hermione elbowed him sharply.

The image of Zabini sprawled lazily across Malfoy’s body jumped, unbidden, into Harry’s mind. He pushed it firmly away. “Fine,” he said, his voice slightly higher than normal.

Hermione looked at him curiously.

“I’d better go,” he said quickly. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Harry pulled his head back almost before Ron and Hermione had said goodbye, and found Malfoy sitting behind him on the couch, reading.

“Christ, don’t you have anything better to do?” Harry asked in exasperation.

“Not since you ruined the mood,” Malfoy said airily.

Harry blushed and looked away. Malfoy eyed him, but didn’t say anything.

“Good idea,” Malfoy said finally. “Getting Granger to raid Grindelwald’s library.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, sitting down. “Figured it would probably have what we’re after.”

Malfoy nodded. Then he put down his book with a sigh. “I’m sick of reading,” he said with a wry grin, surprising a laugh out of Harry.

“We could do a Seekers’ Run?” Harry suggested. “I’ve got a new technique I want to try.”

Malfoy’s eyes lit up. It was surprisingly endearing. “You’re on,” he said, and stood up.

Within half an hour they were down at the oval. After a quick warm up, Harry pulled out the cloak.

Malfoy eyed it with distaste. “So there it is,” he said. “That’s how you got away with everything. I thought you had one, but I wasn’t sure. It seemed too unlikely. Turns out you had the best one of all.”

Harry shrugged. “Do you want to wear it first, or will I?”

“Me,” Malfoy said, grinning and snatching the cloak. He threw it over himself and disappeared.

Harry pointed his wand and cast a quick charm to make sure it didn’t fly off Malfoy halfway through the Run. He mounted his broom.

“So, I guess you lead the whole way,” he said, shifting and trying to hear where Malfoy was. He felt a small rush of air at his right and figured Malfoy was in place. “Take it slow to start.”

“You wish,” Malfoy said with a laugh. Harry heard the unmistakable rush of a broomstick taking off and leapt into the air to follow.

It was surreal. He knew that Malfoy was on his right, but his brain told him that was impossible. There was nothing there. It wasn’t like walking next to Ron and Hermione the few times that they had been under the cloak when he wasn’t, because that was slow. It didn’t matter if you bumped into them, and your brain wasn’t processing its surroundings at lightning speed. Harry had to fight against every instinct that told him he was in the open and focus instead on the sound of Malfoy breathing and the rustle of the cloak through the air.

Something changed and the surrounding noise seemed suddenly less. After a second, he realised that Malfoy must have turned away. He banked quickly to the right and sped up. He felt something brush against his shoulder.

“Christ, Potter!” Harry heard Malfoy exclaim. “That was close.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, and gritted his teeth, trying to focus more.

He found that if he relaxed just slightly, he could make the surroundings fade, like they did when he had his eye on the Snitch. Except he didn’t have his eye on anything. Instead of zoning in on the small spot of gold in his vision, he zoned in on the movements of air against his arm, on the subtle sense that told him someone was there, on the sound of a broom other than his own. And something else, something he couldn’t identify, that told him Malfoy was close.

He heard a split-second of silence in the rush of noise all around him, and the ‘something else’ that he couldn’t identify faded. He banked right.

“Good one, Potter,” Malfoy said in surprise. “You weren’t that far behind.”

Harry grinned. He heard the noise get louder and he sped up, matching Malfoy’s new speed. Something brushed his arm. He didn’t think, just automatically banked left.

Malfoy whooped next to his ear as they changed directions flawlessly without crashing.

With a shock, Harry realised that the ‘something else’ was the smell of Malfoy’s shampoo against the clean cut grass of the oval. Harry was so focused on Malfoy’s presence, trying to sense where Malfoy was without sight, that his brain had latched on unwittingly to Malfoy’s scent, making Harry feel like his nose was buried deep in Malfoy’s hair.

Something changed, but he was too distracted to sense what it was and he crashed straight into Malfoy, sending them both tumbling through the air. Harry lost hold of his broom and plummeted to the ground.

Just before he hit, he felt Malfoy grab him and pull him onto his broom, flying the last metre to the ground and sending them both crashing onto the grass.

Malfoy pulled off the cloak and stared down at Harry, his eyes wide and shocked. “Always grab your broom, you idiot!” he snapped, whacking Harry with the cloak. “Do I need to get you a training cable so that you can’t fall off?”

Harry took a deep breath and began to sit up. Then he realised that Malfoy was lying over him where they had fallen, propped up with his arms on either side of Harry’s chest. Almost like Zabini had been earlier.

Malfoy seemed to realise and pulled back.

“Yeah,” Harry said, sitting up and running his hand through his hair, not looking at Malfoy. “I guess I just got confused.”

Malfoy made a rude noise and threw the cloak at him, standing up. “My turn now,” he said.

Harry threw the cloak on and stood up, mounting his broom at Malfoy’s right, shoulder to shoulder. Malfoy looked to his right curiously.

“I know you’re there,” he said, looking all around at where Harry was standing. “But my brain insists you’re not. It’s very strange.” He peered closer, as if trying to see a glimmer of movement.

As Malfoy looked for Harry, Harry studied him. Malfoy’s face was flushed from flying. His hair was a tangled mess and his eyes as they searched were bright with excitement. Harry noticed that he had extraordinarily long eyelashes, dark against the pale of his skin and hair. Without thinking, Harry’s eyes slid to Malfoy’s lips, soft and full.

“I can hear you breathing,” Malfoy said curiously. “Is that how you knew where I was?”

“Sometimes,” Harry said, turning back to the front. “But there were other ways, too.” He pushed off and heard Malfoy do the same, a split second behind.

 

 

**Chapter Thirteen**

 

 

Harry woke up the next morning feeling strangely dull. He was meant to be seeing Dave for lunch, but despite the fact that he had enjoyed Dave’s company the other night, he didn’t feel like going. He forced himself to get out of bed and make his way to the shower. He wasn’t the type to cancel plans, so he figured he needed to hurry up and find a way to make the best of it. Besides, he would surely enjoy it once he was there.

When he finally felt more awake and had made it downstairs to the kitchen, Malfoy was, of course, already up. Harry mumbled a good morning.

“Morning, Potter,” Malfoy said, looking up at him. Malfoy gave a small start, his eyes lingering on Harry’s hair.

Harry ran a hand self consciously through the wet tendrils that had curled around his face. “Is there something in my hair?” he asked.

Malfoy shook his head quickly and turned back to his toast. “I should be used to the shocking untidiness of your hair by now,” he said with a smirk. “But it never fails to amaze.”

Harry made a face. He sat down and took two pieces of toast from the rack Kreacher had prepared. Catching sight of his reflection in the window, he thought his hair looked rather tidy this morning, particularly since it hadn’t even dried yet. He paused for a second, assessing his appearance. He’d never been one to really care how he looked, but if he was going to start dating properly then he figured he should probably consider it a little more. And if he thought about it, his glasses were very old fashioned.

He lifted his hand and took off his glasses. Of course, now he couldn’t see anything. He turned to Malfoy.

Do you think I should get contacts?” he asked.

Malfoy stared at him. At least, Harry assumed he did. All he could see was a pale face and blonde hair.

After a long pause, Malfoy made a movement that could have been a shrug and said, “Shouldn’t you ask Dave?”

Harry put his glasses back on. “Not that I know very much about any of this,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure that if you’re making an effort in your appearance for someone, you don’t ask their advice. You just do it.”

Malfoy seemed to be avoiding his eyes. “Then get contacts,” he said, inspecting his toast carefully before taking a bite.

“So I look better without them?” Harry asked, his suspicions confirmed. That must be why Hermione was always offering to teach him spells that could temporarily help his vision.

“I don’t know,” Malfoy said, looking up at Harry with a strange mix of exasperation and amusement, like there was some joke that Harry wasn’t getting. “Yes. Yes, you do.”

Harry felt slightly disappointed. He was getting the sudden impression that he’d failed to pick up on years of hints suggesting that he could do with some aesthetic improvement. That was a little disconcerting, to say the least.

Malfoy frowned at him, seeming to realise that Harry was a little hurt. “Not that you look bad now,” he said, the expression still on his face.

Harry laughed. “Thanks, but it’s alright, Malfoy,” he said. “I’m just a little stunned that people have apparently been telling me I look bad for years.”

He pulled out his wand and tried to remember one of the spells Hermione had taught him. He had never bothered to listen. Finally he remembered one of the longer-lasting ones, although it did leave everything softly blurred. “Ensighteous”, he muttered.

The world turned blurry. He pulled off his glasses. Malfoy was staring at him again, except Harry could see it now. Malfoy’s expression of amusement had dropped and he looked almost lost.

“Er, it worked,” Harry said, looking Malfoy up and down. Everything looked softer, the edges less defined, but it was clear.

“What worked?” Malfoy asked, still staring at Harry.

“I can see you,” Harry said with a grin.

Malfoy gave a start and looked at him properly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “You’re the slightest bit blurry, but that’s it.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened. “What were you talking about contacts for, then, if you could do it with a spell?” he said. A slight, pink tinge had crept onto his cheeks.

“Well, I wasn’t sure I could,” Harry said. “Hermione kept trying to teach me, but I was never interested.”

Malfoy turned back to his toast. Harry finished his and looked at the time. He was due to meet Dave in three hours, so he had time to look at some books before then. The problem was, he was a little nervous to open another one.

“Do you think any of the other books have anti-theft spells on them?” he asked in an attempt to be casual.

Malfoy grimaced. It was only for a second, but Harry saw. “Not sure,” he said, finishing his breakfast and looking up. “Perhaps if I opened them first and passed them to you, the book might realise you were only borrowing the titles?”

Harry nodded. “Worth a go.”

They moved to the living room and Malfoy opened a book at random and passed it to Harry.

“Dueling with the Dark Arts?” Harry read with a grimace. “How pleasant.”

Malfoy smirked. “It’s not all Unforgivables you know,” he said without looking up. “If you hadn’t caught me off guard in the bathroom I would have wiped the floor with you.”

Harry gave a small smirk, but the memory of Malfoy lying on the floor in a pool of blood was still too vivid for him to find humor in it yet. He turned a few pages without reading before looking up at Malfoy.

“I am sorry about that,” he said.

Malfoy looked up in surprise. He blinked. “Well, I was going to Crucio you,” he said. “And I was trying to kill Dumbledore.” He gave a humorless laugh. “So don’t feel too bad about it.”

“That’s true,” Harry said. “But he knew that and he forgave you up until the very end, so in a way I’d be dishonoring his memory if I didn’t forgive you.”

“So you mean it, then?” Malfoy said, his lip quirking in surprise. “You were queen of the Dumbledore adoration club. I thought you were just being noble and pretending you forgave me.” Malfoy’s voice caught on the word ‘forgave’. Harry admired him for saying it anyway, despite how it must catch on his pride.

“Every good decision that Dumbledore ever made was based around forgiveness and trust,” Harry said. “I guess I’m just trying to live up to that. I still think you were acting like an evil little git, but I understand why you were. Like Dumbledore said, you’re not a killer. And I don’t know what I would have done if Voldemort had threatened Ron and Hermione unless I killed, say, Snape.” He was fairly sure he wouldn’t have tried to kill even Snape, but Malfoy didn’t need to know that. If Harry had been raised by Lucius, who knows what he would have thought.

“So you are being noble,” Malfoy said with a sneer, but he went quiet as he processed Harry’s words. To his credit, he didn’t rage about Harry patronizing him. He seemed to have already moved beyond the point where acknowledging that he had grown beyond his past bad choices felt like admitting a weakness.

Harry remembered something else. “Did you know he was dying anyway?” he asked.

The shocked look on Malfoy’s face told Harry that he hadn’t.

“He was cursed by a ring,” Harry said. “If you had killed him, you would have only been giving him a merciful death. I guess knowing that makes it a little easier for me to see your point of view.”

Anger crossed Malfoy’s face, but just as quickly it passed. He looked worn. “Doesn’t really matter, does it?” he said. “Although it would have been nice to know that. Maybe then the nightmares would have stopped.”

“Nightmares?”

“Where I actually pulled it off,” Malfoy said with a humorless smile.

Harry had nothing to say to that, so he turned back to his dueling book and began to read.

“Hey, it talks about Grindelwald’s duel with Dumbledore,” he said after a while.

“Of course it does,” Malfoy said. “It was something of a big deal.”

“First time I’ve seen someone write that Grindelwald lost because he failed to complete ownership of the Three,” Harry added conversationally.

Malfoy dropped his book. “What?” he asked.

“That’s all it says,” Harry said with a shrug. “As if we’re meant to know what that means.”

“The Three,” Malfoy repeated. “Could be another way of referring to the Hallows.”

Harry nodded. Malfoy suddenly flipped back several pages in the book he was reading.

“ _There exists only one known way to achieve Mastery: ownership of The Three,”_ Malfoy read. “It doesn’t say anything else.”

“What’s Mastery?” Harry asked.

“I’ve never seen it defined exactly,” Malfoy said. “But it seems to be some advanced form of magic use. Which is kind of obvious from the name really, you’d think they could have tried a little harder to keep the mystery. At any rate, I don’t think people agree on exactly how it does that, but whenever I’ve seen it mentioned, it’s always as some kind of revered stage of magic use.”

“It’s got to be the Hallows,” Harry said, his voice raising in excitement. “What else could it be?”

Malfoy’s eyes were bright, although his tone was cautious. “It may not be,” he said. “But it does sound like it.” He suddenly stopped still. “Don't you have all three of them?” he asked.

Harry froze. They could try it out, find out what Mastery was. But- “Shit,” he swore. “I don't have the stone anymore.”

Malfoy swore. “Can we go get it?” he asked.

Harry nodded. “We can try,” he said.

Malfoy turned away and picked up another book, flipping to a seemingly random page.

Suddenly Malfoy thudded back against the couch like he had been shoved. He fell back, twitched, and was still.

“Malfoy?” Harry asked, jumping up in alarm. Malfoy didn’t move. “Not again,” Harry muttered, fighting the instinct to rush to Malfoy’s side and instead hovering back, hand over his wand.

Malfoy moaned.

“Are you okay, Malfoy?” Harry asked. Malfoy moaned again. “Draco?” he asked.

Malfoy lifted his head to stare at Harry. If Harry had thought he had seen Malfoy hit rock bottom before, he was wrong. The mask had been torn from Malfoy’s face. Drained of colour, his pale skin was suddenly clammy. His eyes were wide and unseeing.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he moaned.

Harry dropped his hand from his wand and rushed across the room. He crouched down in front of Malfoy and lightly touched his hand to Malfoy’s shoulder. “It’s alright, Draco,” he said. “It’s over now.”

“Stop showing me,” Malfoy cried. To Harry’s horror, Malfoy latched onto Harry’s shoulders, burying his face in Harry’s neck. “I can’t do it. I can’t take it.”

Harry wrapped his arms around Malfoy’s shoulders and held him close. “You don’t have to,” he said, wondering what memories Malfoy was revisiting. Living with Voldemort for so long, what had he seen?

Malfoy shuddered, not lifting his head from Harry’s shoulder. His body continued to shake. Harry thought of all the times he had called Malfoy a coward, and regretted every one. He had learned a little more about being afraid in the last months. It wasn’t something to be laughed at. It sounded like Malfoy had spent most of his life afraid of something.

Slowly, Malfoy stopped shaking. Harry moved up onto the couch next to him, but didn’t let go. Eventually, Malfoy raised his head. His face was deathly white, but his eyes were dry. He opened his mouth to say something, but Harry gently but firmly shoved his head back down onto Harry’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said. He felt Malfoy relax and they sat together on the couch, Malfoy’s head on Harry’s shoulder and Harry’s arms around him. After a while, Harry felt Malfoy move his hands slightly, so that they were no longer resting on Harry’s shoulders, but were tucked around Harry in an embrace.

Harry felt alarmingly lightheaded. It was so comfortable, resting there in each other’s arms. He had never felt this kind of comfort with anyone before. Just a simple sharing of support. Before he could question what he was about to do, he turned and pressed his lips lightly onto Malfoy’s hair.

Malfoy stiffened slightly, but then relaxed. After a long time, when Harry had almost dozed off, he said, “Thanks, Harry.”

Harry stirred and adjusted his seat, but Malfoy lightly pulled away and stood up. “Anti-theft spell similar to a boggart,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “Looks like the books are objecting to being removed from the mansion, rather than to who is reading them. You’ll be late,” he added, looking at the time.

Harry caught Malfoy’s eyes. Something passed between them, but Harry couldn’t identify what it was. He felt reassured, but also bereft. Harry had seen through Voldemort’s eyes. He knew the depth of destruction that had been done at his hands, and he knew how it felt to be a powerless observer. Malfoy knew how it felt to be a powerless victim. Harry had spent so long in the knowledge that no one else quite grasped what it was like to have gone through what Harry had, that he felt suddenly lost in the presence of someone who did.

He looked at the time, swore softly and stood up to go meet Dave.

 

**Chapter Fourteen**

 

Dave took one look at Harry and gave a low whistle. Harry blinked in surprise, but was unable to successfully fight back a smile.

“Hi,” he said, accepting Dave’s arm around his waist as Dave pulled him in close.

“I like the ‘no glasses’ look,” Dave said, giving him a gentle kiss on the lips. “Has anyone ever told you that your eyes are the most amazing green?” He leaned back and gazed into Harry’s eyes. Harry felt a jolt of surprise as he was inexplicably reminded of Malfoy this morning, looking at him across the breakfast table.

“Can’t say they have,” Harry said lightly, still smiling. He was right - he had known that he would enjoy the date once he arrived, but it had been particularly difficult to leave after everything that had happened this morning. He hadn’t liked leaving Malfoy on his own after that. Although it gave him an uncomfortable jolt in the stomach, he hoped Zabini came over or something so that Malfoy didn’t have to be alone.

“Shall we order?” Dave asked, leading Harry over to a small cafe that overlooked the jetty. Harry hadn’t even noticed they were by the water, he’d been so distracted by Dave’s greeting.

“Sure,” he said, taking a seat at one of the outside chairs. The waiter came to take their order, and they were left alone again.

“Do you like it here?” Dave asked, glancing over at the water.

“It’s beautiful,” Harry said truthfully, although his mind was back at Grimmauld place, worrying about Malfoy.

He caught sight of Dave watching him, and gave a start. Dave had a strange expression on his face, but Harry couldn’t place what it was. He felt he had seen it before. He frowned slightly; it wasn’t a nice expression, and for some reason it made his knees hurt in remembered pain. Then Dave seemed to shake it off and smiled at Harry.

“So what’s normal life like, after defeating the greatest Dark Wizard of our time?” Dave said with a grin.

Harry smiled. “Delightfully dull,” he said.

“How did you do it anyway?” he asked. “No article ever really covered it. Did you train for a long time?”

Harry pulled a face. “No, I got lucky.”

Dave nodded, his eyes intense on Harry’s face. “There were rumours that you were looking for magical items in the year before his death,” he said.

Harry thought of the Horcruxes and shrugged. “Something like that, but not quite.”

Dave made a show of looking disappointed. “So, no secret, powerful, objects, then?”

Harry stared at him. Dave’s expression was light, curious. “No,” Harry said slowly. “’Fraid not.”

“That’s a shame,” Dave said, waving a hand. “It was an exciting thought.”

Harry decided he was being overcautious and forced himself to relax.

“I thought you must have been looking for the Elder Wand,” Dave said.

Through a magnificent effort, Harry managed to adjust his expression from shock and fear down to mild surprise. “Er,” he said brilliantly.

“But you obviously just stumbled on it, then?” Dave continued, seemingly oblivious to Harry’s shock.

“Well,” Harry said and then stopped. Dave looked up.

“Some articles got enough right about your final battle for those of us who know about the wand to read between the lines,” he said with a grin. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” Harry said slowly. “Just a bit surprised. Like you say, I thought most people didn’t really follow what happened. I didn’t know it was reported anywhere. I figured some people knew, but no one’s ever asked me about it.”

“Most people don’t care,” Dave said with a shrug. He leaned around the table and looked at Harry’s pocket. “So is that it?”

Harry shook his head. “No, I gave it up,” he said firmly.

Dave looked shocked. “Why?”

Harry shrugged. “Didn’t want it,” he said, feeling more uncomfortable with the conversation by the second. But then, he’d been able to trust Malfoy, why couldn’t he trust Dave? Perhaps because Malfoy had proved himself, despite the alignment of his family. “I got rid of it,” he said.

“Where?” Dave asked quickly. Then he held up his hands and shook his head. “Nevermind, doesn’t matter, does it? It’s still yours,” he laughed. “I’m just surprised that you’re leaving yourself so vulnerable. People would have to come after you for it anyway, but you’ve left yourself defenseless and made them think they have a chance.”

“Well, you’re the only one who knows,” Harry said, a touch briskly. “So unless you’re going to try to take it from me, I think I’m safe.”

Dave seemed to pick up on Harry’s mood and held up a hand apologetically. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” His face took on a teasing expression. “Do you always throw powerful magical items away?” he asked.

Harry thought of the stone of wisdom, lying forgotten in the Forbidden Forest. “No, sometimes I drop them in the bloody forest,” he muttered to himself.

He must have said it louder than he had thought, because Dave looked up at him suddenly. Harry didn’t elaborate. Something about the gleam in Dave’s eyes was making him very uncomfortable.

The waiter came with their meals and Dave changed the subject to quidditch. Soon they were discussing game news eagerly. Harry began talking about his latest training endeavors, and before Harry knew it was time for him to leave.

“Thank you for today,” Harry said, leaning in to give Dave a quick kiss on the cheek. Before he made contact, Dave turned his head and met Harry’s lips with his own. Dave slid his hand along the back of Harry’s neck and held him there, firmly but gently deepening the kiss. Harry’s lips parted, and Dave slid his tongue along Harry’s mouth, smiling against Harry’s lips.

It was a good kiss, but Harry felt somehow unhappy. He sighed and pulled back. Dave didn’t notice, taking it as the natural end to the kiss.

“I’ll owl you,” Harry said, forcing a smile.

Dave nodded and Harry apparated, wondering why it felt as though he were running away.

When he opened the door to Grimmauld place he heard yelling. His first instinct was that he was under attack, but then he realised that it was normal, argument yelling, like when Ron and Hermione had a fight. He wondered what his chances were of making it to the stairs without being seen, since Malfoy and Zabini were obviously in the living room. He began to edge slowly past.

“I don’t care what you think!” Malfoy spat. “No one asked for your opinion!”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t need it,” Zabini said snidely. “I’m telling you, you need to forget the whole damn thing. And I am _offering_ to help you do just that, but you’re throwing it back in my face, like an idiot.”

“I’m the idiot?!” Malfoy’s voice was incredulous. “I’m not the one who’s so emotionally stunted they can’t understand such a simple concept! I’m falling in l-”

Harry took a deep breath and tried to move past the living room doorway in one smooth movement. Malfoy’s choked gasp made him stop. He’d been spotted. He turned to the doorway and waved halfheartedly, trying to pass it off like he was completely deaf and hadn’t even noticed the demented screams that were competing for audibility with conversations three streets away.

Malfoy stared at him in horror, clearly shocked at being caught in the middle of a lover’s spat. Zabini’s eyes were wide in surprise and, then, suddenly, his expression changed to absolute hilarity. Harry couldn’t figure out what was so funny, but from the contrasting raw emotion on Malfoy’s face, he was forced to conclude that Zabini was a complete idiot.

“Well, that’s my cue,” Zabini said, grinning viciously. “We’ll talk later, Draco.” He pushed his way past Harry and let himself out.

Harry rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, waiting for Malfoy to stop staring at him so that he could pretend this never happened and go upstairs. Malfoy kept staring.

“Well, I’m going to go,” he paused. “Upstairs,” he said slowly. “And. Well. When it’s dark, we’ll go look for the stone, yeah?” He chanced a look at Malfoy. Malfoy’s eyes were frantic.

“How much did you hear?” Malfoy asked finally, his voice significantly higher than usual.

So that’s what Malfoy was worried about. “It’s alright,” Harry said, holding up his hands. “I didn’t hear any details. And for what it’s worth, I reckon Zabini would be an emotionally stunted idiot in a relationship. You’re brave for trying. You’ll bring him round I’m sure,” he made some kind of gesture that was meant to be encouraging and then gave up. He’d never been part of a relationship pep talk before and he felt that now wasn’t the time to start.

“Zabini,” Malfoy said slowly, his brows furrowing. He stared at Harry before suddenly relaxing. “Yeah, what a twit,” he said, eying Harry sideways. He promptly sat down on the couch and picked up a book.

Harry fled. When he reached his room, he spent the next few hours trying desperately to think of exactly where he had been standing in the forest when he had dropped the stone, but his memory was a complete blur.

A whistling broke through his thoughts and he realised that someone was trying to Floo him. He raced downstairs to the now empty living room and stuck his head into the fire.

Ron and Hermione smiled at him from where they knelt in front of the hearth. Harry was pleased to see that they didn’t appear to have been chased by museum curators or angry policemen.

“How did you go?” he asked.

“Alright,” Hermione said with a wry grin. “We managed to get something out of there, although I think someone saw us in the end.”

“S’alright though,” Ron added puffing out his chest. “I distracted them with my astounding wit.”

Hermione laughed. “The book screamed a little when I picked it up. I thought I had covered all those spells, but I missed the most obvious. Ron managed to convince the guards that he had seen a spider. He gave a very convincing scream.”

Harry laughed, while Ron looked slightly deflated. “Can I have the book?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head, looking grave. “Not yet,” she said. “I’ll have to look into getting around the export laws here. I’m not sure if we’ll even be able to take it away at all. But I’ve studied it a little. It was the most worn item in his collection, so Grindelwald clearly kept coming back to it. It talks about uniting the Hallows, but then it gets confusing. It seems to start talking about house elves and goblins and centaurs. I’m not sure what it means yet.”

Harry started to get excited again. “You’re brilliant, Hermione,” he said with feeling. “And you, Ron. That’s exactly what I needed to know. It confirms what Draco and I had been thinking.”

“Draco?!” Ron and Hermione both repeated, shocked.

Harry bit his tongue sharply, but the damage was done. He tried to pass it off casually instead. “Well, we decided all that last name stuff was getting a bit juvenile,” he said.

Ron wrinkled his nose in disgust while Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Did you?” she asked, her voice deceptively light.

“Well, I’d better go,” Harry said quickly. “Thanks so much for getting that. It’s exactly what I needed.”

“Wait, Harry,” Hermione said, her tone becoming urgent. “There’s something else.”

Harry paused.

“It looks like Grindelwald knew that your father was the descendant of the brothers,” Hermione said. “He had books on their genealogy. If that’s the case, and the cloak passes from descendant to descendant, this Death Eater might know that you have the cloak too. So be careful.”

Harry felt his excitement die. If Twilfitt really was after the Hallows, he could easily know that Harry had the cloak and the wand. What if he found out about the stone, too?

“Thanks, Hermione,” he said. “Look, I’d really better go. Thanks again. I’ll owl you.”

They said goodbye and Harry pulled back into the living room. It was still empty. He went searching for Malfoy and found him in his sitting room with the door open, playing guitar.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

Malfoy nodded without looking up and put his guitar down in its stand. “After you,” he said.

“You play well, Draco,” Harry said, looking back at Malfoy as they walked down the stairs.

Malfoy’s head whipped up in shock, although whether it was from the compliment or the name, Harry wasn’t sure.

“Thanks, Harry,” he said, before looking back down.

Harry figured that Malfoy was still upset over his argument with Zabini, and decided to leave him in peace. He held out his arm when they were on the step and Malfoy took it lightly before they apparated back to Hogwarts.

“Right,” Malfoy said, looking at the gate in trepidation. “How do we get in without alarming everyone?”

Harry had already thought ahead. “I sent an owl to Professor McGonagall,” he said, lifting a hand and letting it rest on the gates. The gates swung open, letting them pass before shutting behind them.

“I’ve been trying to remember where I was when I dropped it,” Harry said quietly. “But I wasn’t really paying attention at the time.”

“Pathetic,” Malfoy said, shaking his head. “You were only walking toward probable death. You should have been paying more attention.”

Harry laughed. “Certain death, you mean.”

Malfoy shrugged. “Since you didn’t die, I’m sticking with probable.”

Harry frowned at him, although they kept walking. “You know I died, right?”

“Come again?”

“I died,” Harry repeated. “That was the prophecy. I was the final Horcrux.”

Malfoy stopped dead. “You what?”

Harry grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him forward, not wanting to stay too long in the open. “Dumbledore left a message with Snape’s memories - long story. That’s how I found out Dumbledore was already dying. Anyway, when Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby, he transferred some of his soul onto me. I had to die for him to die. Luckily, it turned out that Dumbledore guessed correctly and Voldemort only killed the part of me that was him, if that makes sense.”

“Mother was there,” Malfoy said quietly, looking stunned. “She never said. I thought you'd faked it.”

Harry realised that Malfoy really had no idea what Narcissa had done for Harry. Harry supposed it wasn’t his place to tell Malfoy.

“Well, it was all a bit confusing,” Harry said dismissively. “I can understand that she got a bit distracted by more important things.”

Malfoy snorted. “You would say that, you bloody golden boy,” he said, although there was no real bite in the words. “I can’t believe you took the risk that Dumbledore _guessed_ right and that you wouldn’t die. All that hero stuff really went to your head, didn’t it?”

This time Harry stopped. He was all for dismissing the entire uncomfortable subject, but not if Malfoy was going to assume it had all been a crazy attempt to be the ultimate hero. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I only found out about Dumbledore’s guess after it was all over. The only reason it worked is because I gave myself up as a sacrifice, believing that I wouldn’t come back. Dumbledore was waiting for me, since I was dead and all. We spoke then. I wasn’t trying to be a hero. What’s the point in playing hero if you’re not around to enjoy it? I was just trying to kill Voldemort, and he could never die if the part of his soul that was in me still lived. I had to die.”

Malfoy’s mouth was slightly open, his face shadowed by moonlight. He started to speak and stopped. “Fuck, Harry,” he said finally. He turned around and resumed walking abruptly toward the forest.

Harry sped to catch up. He glanced at Malfoy, but Malfoy refused to look at him.

“Does it know any bloody limits?” Malfoy suddenly spat, after several minutes of silence.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Your insane need to be a martyr,” Malfoy clarified, shooting Harry a filthy look. “Does it have a limit? I mean, in school it drove me nuts, since everyone bloody loved you for it. I was utterly convinced you loved the attention. Now I’m forced to consider that you didn’t do it for the fame, that you really are that much of a goddamn idiot that your first instinct when faced with danger is to throw yourself into it in the hopes that one of your flailing and dismembered limbs serves as someone’s shield.”

“It was necessary,” Harry argued, trying to keep his voice low. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“No, you never do!” Malfoy shot back. “It’s always you, isn’t it? Voldemort’s dead and it’s still you. Tell me, Harry, months from now am I going to finally be able to go home, only to come back to visit for a weekend and find that you nobly threw yourself in front of a herd of stampeding banshees instead of just _pushing people out of the way?_ ”

“Oh, come off it, Draco,” Harry spluttered. “You’re being stupid, now.”

“Am I?” Malfoy spat, a touch hysterically. “Am I, Harry? Or is that just the tiniest bit realistic, considering danger seems to follow you like disaster follows Longbottom? And you clearly don’t think well in a crisis.”

“I don’t do it for fun,” Harry shot back, his voice rising. “There’s never another choice!”

“There’s always another choice!” Malfoy hissed. “Where is your self preservation?! Hex someone! Learn some defensive spells! Can’t you understand that sometimes you owe it to the people you leave behind to try a little harder not to go in the first place?”

Malfoy stood watching him, his chest heaving and his eyes crazed.

“Fine,” Harry said slowly. “I won’t, I don’t know, blindly throw myself away as a sacrifice. Not that I was planning to anyway.”

“Thank you,” Malfoy said forcefully. “You imbecile. Slytherin, my arse. You’re a stupid Gryffindor all the way. The worst kind.”

Harry felt oddly touched, but was too thankful that Malfoy had stopped talking to mention anything.

They continued walking until they reached a spot that Harry thought might have been where he met Voldemort.

“Start looking,” he said, waving to the ground. “It’s probably overgrown by now.”

They both got down on their hands and knees and began to search.

“Accio, stone of wisdom,” Harry said hopefully, but as they had thought, the stone was too powerful to be summoned so easily.

After more than an hour searching several places in the forest, they were forced to concede that it had been a stupid plan. Harry had hoped that the centaurs might show up and he could ask if they knew what had happened to it, but the forest had been distinctly empty.

“Home again,” Harry said, heading back toward the gate.

Malfoy nodded and began to follow. Suddenly, he froze. “Did you hear that?” he asked.

Harry stood still, but heard nothing.

Eventually Malfoy shook his head and resumed following. They left the gates and apparated home.

 

**Chapter Fifteen**

 

The next day Harry sent an owl to Professor McGonagall to ask if she could contact the centaurs on his behalf. Apart from asking them if they knew of the stone’s whereabouts, neither he nor Malfoy had any idea where to look next for the stone.

They decided to have a break from research, since they were both pretty disheartened from their failure last night. Instead, they went down to the oval after lunch for another blindfold Seekers’ Run. This time they were much better at it, and Harry made sure not to be distracted any more by Malfoy’s scent.

Malfoy was under the cloak and they had just managed to successfully complete a small spiral when Harry lost track of Malfoy.

“Draco?” he called hesitantly. “Sorry, I’ve lost you completely.”

He heard a small whoosh beside him and tentatively moved his broom forward, but the noise had already disappeared.

“Draco?” he called again.

“Behind you,” Malfoy’s voice came from just next to his right ear.

Harry jumped and turned around. “How did you do that?” he asked. “You’re so quiet.”

“Thought I’d step the game up a little,” came Malfoy’s cocky reply. He sounded as though he were mere inches from Harry. “Unless you don’t think you’re ready for it?”

Harry grinned. “You wish.” He waited for the sound of Malfoy taking off, but it was quiet. There wasn’t even any wind to mask the noise. “Draco?” he asked, looking around uselessly.

“Still here,” Malfoy said from the same position as before. His voice sounded strained, almost rasping.

“What are you waiting for?” Harry asked. He frowned slightly, wishing he could see why Malfoy had stopped.

He heard Malfoy give a small intake of breath, then something moved softly against his cheek. Like a touch.

Harry felt his stomach flip, and wished vividly that Malfoy wasn’t wearing the Invisibility cloak. He couldn’t see where Malfoy was looking and it made him feel naked.

Movement down near the oval caught Harry’s eye. He turned and frowned. “It’s Dave,” he said slowly. “What’s Dave doing here?”

Malfoy didn’t speak. Harry turned and flew down to where Dave was wandering the outskirts of the oval, clearly unable to see them. A rush of air at his right told him Malfoy was next to him. He dismounted, dropped his broom and walked over to Dave, removing the protection spells as he went.

“Dave?” he asked.

Dave smiled and turned. “I thought you might be here,” he said, still grinning. “You mentioned the oval yesterday. I thought I might catch you practicing.”

“Well, yeah,” Harry said, feeling suddenly awkward. He hadn’t realised he had told Dave the exact location of the oval. If he hadn’t been so unsettled during their conversation he never would have mentioned it.

Harry realised suddenly that Malfoy was still under the cloak. He turned to his right and frowned, but didn’t say anything. Malfoy’s obvious wariness was making Harry slightly edgy. Turning back to Dave, he realised that Dave still had on the strange expression from yesterday. Again, Harry felt his knees throb in remembered pain, like they had just slammed into a desk he had been trying to jump.

Or trying not to jump. Moody’s face flashed into his mind and he remembered where he had seen the expression: in the classroom in fourth year, when they had been practicing the Imperius curse.

He pulled out his wand and pointed it at Dave, but Dave was faster.

Dave sneered, aiming his wand casually at the air next to Harry. “Did I guess correct?” he asked.

Harry froze, not wanting to provoke him into harming Malfoy.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Just the cloak,” Dave muttered and before Harry could react there was a whoosh of air next to him as Malfoy was blown backwards in a wordless spell and then Harry was flying back, too, stunned. Dave groped the air next to him until he had the cloak and then disapparated.

“What a kind Death Eater,” Malfoy said drily when the spell wore off. “Stunning us so politely.”

“I think he only cared about the cloak,” Harry said, sitting up slowly. He ran his hand through his hair, looking at the ground. He felt sick. “I don’t remember telling him,” Harry said, looking up imploringly at Malfoy. “I swear. I would never have given away your location if I’d known. I was distracted because he was talking about the Hallows and I wanted to change the subject so we talked about quidditch. I didn’t realise he was imperiused until just then when I remembered seeing the look on his face somewhere else.”

Malfoy held up a hand. “It’s alright, Harry,” he said. “I know you didn’t mean it. It’s not the Gryffindor thing to do. Stampeding banshees, remember? Besides, I should have been quicker stunning him myself, but he caught me by surprise.”

Harry sighed. “What do we do?”

“Better go save your boyfriend, I guess,” Malfoy said, sitting back on his heels and looking slightly lost.

Harry nodded and stood up. Grabbing Malfoy’s arm, he accio’d their brooms and apparated them to Dave’s address.

It was midday, but the house was very quiet. Harry knocked on the door, but when no one answered he pointed his wand and let them both in.

Dave was lying on the floor of the loungeroom. Harry rushed over to him and shook him gently.

“Dave, wake up,” he said frantically, hoping they weren’t too late. Malfoy stood over him, his hand on his wand, ready for intruders.

Dave’s eyes opened. “Harry?” he asked, blinking carefully.

Harry sat back in relief. “You’re alive,” he said.

“Yeah,” Dave said slowly, sitting up and pushing his hair back out of his eyes. “Now, explain to me why I get the distinct impression that’s a surprise.”

“You were imperiused,” Malfoy said bluntly. “Have a cup of tea, you’ll get over it.”

Dave paled. Harry glared at Malfoy before resting a hand reassuringly on Dave’s leg. Dave flinched.

Harry pulled back his hand, hurt. “It feels strange now, but it will pass,” he said. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Standing with you outside your friend’s house,” Dave said looking confused.

“It must have been the people who attacked the Weasley’s,” Harry said to Malfoy. “They must have cursed Dave then.” He turned back to Dave. “I’m really sorry they used you, but we’re going to find them, it’s okay.”

Dave stared at him. “Okay?” He repeated. “Someone used an Unforgivable on your boyfriend and it’s okay?”

Harry reeled back a little, surprised at the emptiness in Dave’s tone.

“Well, you’re not hurt,” Harry said, looking Dave over. “And we’ll catch them, I promise.”

"You promise,” Dave said slowly. “Right. Is this a common occurrence for you?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry said honestly. “It was before I killed Voldemort. I don’t really know what things are going to be like now.”

Dave laughed without humor. “Listen, Harry, I think you’re a great guy, but I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.”

Harry felt like someone had punched him in the gut. It wasn’t that he was in love with Dave, but he had thought they were going well. He enjoyed spending time with him. He’d hoped they might be able to get further than two dates.

“S-sure,” he said, cursing himself for stammering. It had been an eventful morning. “Well, thanks for-” he realised that Dave hadn’t even been the one who invited him to lunch. “Everything,” he finished lamely and stood up. Dave stood up and brushed himself off.

“Whoa, there, Potter,” Malfoy’s sarcastic drawl suddenly cut through the air as he shoved a hand in front of Harry. “Not so fast.” He turned to Dave. “’I think you’re a great guy’? Really? That’s what you have to say to the savior of the wizarding world?” He sneered. “You’re not cut out for this. Please. If you’re going to drop someone because you’re a pathetic coward, at least have the decency to say so. You act like Harry personally imposed upon you, instead of you being lucky enough to only get a small taste of the kind of shit he’s put up with for eighteen years.”

Harry stared at Malfoy open mouthed. To his confusion, Dave didn’t even look surprised.

“You done?” Dave asked, raising an eyebrow.

Malfoy glared at him.

“Maybe you should be telling him that,” Dave continued, nodding his head at Harry, his voice loaded with meaning. “Now, if you’ll excuse me?” He motioned to the door.

Malfoy gave one last sneer before grabbing Harry’s arm and dragging him out the door. He apparated them both back to Grimmauld place before Harry could even contemplate saying goodbye.

“Told you he was an arsehole,” Malfoy growled, slamming the door behind him.

“Thanks,” Harry said, laughing despite himself. “That didn’t feel nearly as humiliating as it actually was with you yelling at him. I think.”

“Any time,” Malfoy grunted.

They stood in the hallway. Malfoy seemed reluctant to move and Harry wasn’t sure what to do now. He had lost the cloak. He couldn’t find the stone. He had the wand, but without the other two it was just an impressive wand. It didn’t do whatever the Death Eaters - presumably Twilfitt - wanted. He blew gently on his hands. It was nearly winter and cold in the house. Outside it was almost dark.

“Harry,” Malfoy said.

“Yeah?” Harry asked, looking up. He was surprised to see that Malfoy was closer than he had expected, and Malfoy’s face held the same strangely exasperated expression from yesterday morning, only this time there was no amusement.

“Just forget about him,” Malfoy said. He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the hallway wall. His face was in shadow. “He’s an idiot.”

Harry ran his hands through his hair and grinned ruefully. “I know,” he said. “But he was right, too. Who knows what my life is going to be like from now on? There’s always going to be someone out there who wants power, and I have the Elder Wand. It’s pretty tempting. The people close to me are always going to risk being used against me, being hurt.”

“Stampeding banshees,” Malfoy said warningly.

Harry waved his hand dismissively. “It’s alright, I’m not thinking nobly or sacrificially or anything. It just sucks. It’s bad enough for Ron and Hermione. How can I expect to invite someone new into my life?”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be someone new,” Malfoy said.

Harry shrugged. “It’s still too much to expect from someone,” he said. He put on a falsely bright tone. “Hi there, nice to meet you. People close to me tend to be imperiused or killed or tortured. Sorry in advance. Want to go out with me?” He sighed.

“Yes,” Malfoy said.

“Huh?” Harry asked, looking up.

“Yes, I want to go out with you,” Malfoy said, taking a step forward.

“W-what?” Harry stuttered, cursing his pathetic vocal chords for the second time that day. “You want to go out with me?”

Malfoy took another step closer.

“What about Zabini?” Harry took a step backward, stunned.

“We’re not dating,” Malfoy said, taking another step forward.

“But, in the living room,” Harry stammered. “You were-”

“Demonstrating poor judgment,” Malfoy said. “Father had just been given the Kiss. I wanted comfort.”

“But, that’s the only reason you kissed me,” Harry argued, fighting for solid ground. “You said you wouldn’t do that again.”

Malfoy laughed, the sound low in his throat. “I lied. And it was you, not me, who said that was why I kissed you.”

Harry took another step backward. His feet hit the wall. “But, why did you say you wouldn’t do it again, then?”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to,” Malfoy said, stepping forward so that his body was pressed up against Harry’s.

Harry gave an involuntary shudder, looking up into Malfoy’s eyes, hidden by the dark light of the hallway. “And now?” he asked. He was surprised to hear the rough edge to his own voice.

Malfoy smirked. Instead of answering, he leaned forward and kissed Harry. It wasn’t like the first time, all anger and furious energy. It was slow and soft. Malfoy’s lips pressed gently against Harry’s, lightly tasting without demanding. Harry gave a small moan, his lips parting, and Malfoy pressed his mouth deeper against Harry’s.

Without thinking, Harry opened his mouth further, letting Malfoy’s tongue slip inside and flick lightly against Harry’s own. Malfoy’s arms slid up Harry’s sides and onto his arms, pinning him to the wall. With a shock, Harry realised that Malfoy was strong enough to hold him there. His eyes snapped open and he saw Malfoy pull back, watching him carefully.

“Is it too much?” Malfoy asked quietly, his voice husky.

Harry shook his head and grinned. Straining against Malfoy’s hold, he leaned forward and sucked gently on Malfoy’s lower lip. Malfoy made a small noise in the back of his throat and suddenly he slammed Harry back against the wall and pressed against him in earnest. Their mouths moved against each other, desperate for more, crossing lips and skin and neck in a feverish attempt to taste it all. Harry gasped and with it brought the smell of Malfoy’s shampoo, familiar in a way that was still exciting and new. He leaned into Malfoy’s neck and breathed, savoring the scent. Malfoy shuddered beneath him.

In a quick movement, Harry brought his arms underneath Malfoy’s thighs and hoisted him up so that his legs were wrapped around Harry’s waist. Malfoy hooked his arms around Harry’s shoulders, hanging onto Harry’s neck while Harry licked slowly along his collarbone. Stumbling slightly, Harry carried Malfoy into the living room and they both fell down onto the couch.

Malfoy stretched out across Harry, resting his weight on his arms on either side of Harry’s chest, and came back down, his movements slowing to bring the same languid sensation they had promised in their first kiss. Harry smiled against Malfoy’s mouth and brought his hands up into Malfoy’s hair, holding him there gently.

Harry wasn’t sure how much time passed with them laying there, but eventually they slowed and Malfoy slid down until he rested on his side between Harry and the couch. He pulled back gently from Harry and muttered, “accio blanket.”

A blanket flew over from the other side of the room. Malfoy tucked them both in, coming down to rest propped up on his hand. He watched Harry with a soft smile on his face. It changed his face dramatically. Harry brought his hand up to brush aside the hair from Malfoy’s forehead before pulling him back down for another soft kiss. Malfoy shifted so that his head rested next to Harry’s on the cushion and closed his eyes.

Harry couldn’t remember a time that he had felt this relaxed and found himself wishing stupidly that it wouldn’t end. He closed his eyes and together they drifted into sleep.

 

**Chapter Sixteen**

 

The sound of something smashing into hundreds of tiny pieces, followed by a high-pitched shriek, woke Harry abruptly the next morning. He bolted upright, struggling to extract his wand from his pocket in time, before his half-asleep brain woke up enough to process the situation. He felt Malfoy sit up behind him.

Kreacher stood in front of the couch, his tiny hands covering his mouth and broken crockery on the floor at his feet. From the scattered toast beneath the plate, Harry assumed he had been bringing breakfast to the person on the couch. The single round of toast suggested Kreacher hadn’t realised there had been more than one person. As Harry fumbled for an explanation, Kreacher made a slightly strangled noise, like a sob.

Harry faltered, confused.

“Kreacher is just so happy,” Kreacher burst out finally, removing his hands to speak and revealing a beaming grin. “His two Masters, together.”

“Er, Draco isn’t your Master,” Harry said stupidly.

“Well, hold on a second,” Malfoy said with a smirk, although his eyes were still slightly hooded from sleep. “If we’re in a relationship and we’re living together, I am Kreacher’s master.”

Harry groaned. “Be nice,” he said, while Kreacher began crying with joy.

"Kreacher will prepare more breakfast,” Kreacher said, snapping his fingers and instantly removing the broken porcelain and himself from the room.

“Have you noticed how much more like Dobby he’s becoming?” Harry muttered vaguely, thinking of the Kreacher he had first met compared to the Kreacher that had begun to emerge since Harry had given him the locket.

Malfoy yawned. Harry glanced at Malfoy, who was running a hand through his hair sleepily.

“My neck hurts,” Malfoy declared.

Harry hesitated and then reached up to gently massage Malfoy’s neck.

Malfoy’s glanced sideways at Harry before relaxing into the massage. He closed his eyes.

“Feels nice,” he mumbled, leaning back into Harry’s hand.

Harry gave a final massage and pulled his hand back just in time to avoid Kreacher having another crockery disaster.

“Toast and eggs,” Kreacher said proudly, presenting them each with a plate and a cup of tea.

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry said, trying not to laugh.

Kreacher sniffed loudly and disapparated.

Malfoy inspected the suddenly empty space with a disturbingly impish expression. “Reckon we should snog in front of him and make him faint?” he asked brightly.

Harry choked on his toast. “I said, be nice,” he spluttered when he had finally stopped coughing.

Malfoy shrugged. “Don’t think we’d even need to snog, to be honest,” he muttered. “A particularly licentious battering of the eyelids would probably do the trick.”

“That’s beside the point,” Harry said firmly.

“Spoil sport.”

Before Malfoy could argue any further, Harry’s owl flew in the window.

“That was quick,” Harry muttered, unrolling the letter. Malfoy leaned over his shoulder to read.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_ Professor McGonagall had written.

_Professor Firenze has anticipated your request and left the attached message with me for safekeeping. I trust you will find it useful._

Harry switched to the second parchment.

_Harry Potter, I am afraid I must warn you that as your cloak has become lost to you, it has been reunited with its second brother. If you are to prevent the third from joining their company, you must accept that which you have always sought most to reject, or lose it to another less worthy._

“He was never an overly optimistic fellow, was he?” Malfoy said, his lip curled in distaste. “What will you lose? What you always hoped to reject? That can’t be too bad, surely, or you wouldn’t have kept rejecting it. Or does he mean you’ll lose the wand?”

“The wand,” Harry said slowly, feeling a step behind Malfoy, but not so far behind as he usually felt with Hermione. “That’s what he means by the third brother? So the cloak is with the stone. Which means Twilfitt has them both.” He fell back against the couch, feeling suddenly deflated. “It must have been Dave you heard in the forest that night.”

Malfoy glanced at him.

“I let slip about leaving something in the forest,” Harry admitted, mentally kicking himself all over again. “It must have been enough for him to put two and two together. Or he could have watched me closely after that and seen where we went. Anything is possible.”

Malfoy turned back to the parchment. “Forget it. There’s no point dwelling on past mistakes,” he said drily. “Instead, try to figure out what it could be that you have to accept. Apparently, that’s rather important.”

Harry nodded and leaned forward to read the note again. “So, I’ve always rejected it, and now I have to accept it,” he said dully. “Or I’ll lose it to someone less worthy. That’s it. No more information.”

“Centaurs,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. “They love rubbing in how much more powerful they are than wand-carriers.”

Harry frowned at him. “I’ve never heard a wizard use that term.”

“I’ve never really had a problem with derogatory terminology,” he said, raising his eyebrow in a contemptuous gesture that made Harry remember a time not so long ago that Malfoy wouldn’t hesitate to term someone Mudblood. “It’s just a word.”

Harry opened his mouth and shut it again, making what he deemed a wise decision to leave that fight for another day.

“So are they really that much more powerful?” he asked. “Or do they just like being cryptic?”

Malfoy made a face. “There’s a lot of debate on that,” he said, leaning back into the couch. “Just like with wizards, some centaurs are more powerful than others. They access magic directly, you see, without the need of a wand as a conduit. Since they don’t exactly like to sit in front of a panel of curious wand-carriers and demonstrate just how much magic they can funnel without being consumed by it, we’ve had to make do with recording each increasingly powerful act a centaur or other magical creature has produced and labeling that the most powerful act possible until further notice.”

Harry had never heard magic described like this before. Hogwarts had focused on teaching them how to use it, but never explained what it was. Or, if it had, he had never paid attention. “What do you mean, consumed by it?” Harry asked, an image of spontaneous combustion popping into his head.

“Since they have no wands to funnel the magic for them,” Malfoy explained. “They have to control the process themselves. It’s a volatile thing, magic. Funneling it without a conduit requires skill and concentration. That’s why you sometimes see house elves that have gone completely insane.”

“House elves?” Harry asked, confused at the sudden jump.

Malfoy smirked. “Surprised? Of course, house elves. They’re magical creatures too. They can’t funnel as much magic as centaurs can, but they still don’t require a wand as a conduit. Humans are the only magic users who need an external conduit. Sometimes children slip because they have such a new, raw connection with magic, but it’s never properly controlled or useful. And, obviously, with practice you get wizards who are so powerful that they can create wandless magic, but that is after years of practice with a wand. It is never as complete and as natural as with magical creatures.”

Harry was silent for a few moments. “I think I just learned more about the theory of magic from you in five minutes than I ever did at Hogwarts.”

That surprised a laugh out of Malfoy. “Well, you were clearly so deprived as a child,” he said airily. “Any normal wizard would have grown up knowing something about that, even if they didn’t know it all.”

“Er, raised by Muggles, remember?” Harry said.

Malfoy waved a hand dismissively. “Muggleborns normally know more history than wizard children. As soon as they get their letter, they jump at the chance to learn all about our world. You’re an anomaly.”

“My house wasn’t exactly a learning environment,” Harry said drily.

Malfoy pulled a face. Suddenly he paused. “That’s right, your Muggles hated you, didn’t they?” He looked oddly thoughtful.

“How did you know that?” Harry asked.

“Everyone knew that,” Malfoy said. “It was perfect fodder for teasing you, but I never needed to use it because you gave me so much better material anyway.”

Harry punched him lightly on the shoulder. Malfoy ignored him, which showed Harry just how distracted he really was.

“Would you say that you craved their attention?” he asked.

“Who? The Dursleys?” Harry asked, pulling a face. “Christ, no. Most of the time I wished they’d go away and leave me in the house alone.”

“So, you rejected them?” Malfoy asked pointedly.

Harry began to nod, before he realised what Malfoy meant. “What?” He exclaimed. “No. Not that. Seriously, I rejected a lot of people. I rejected Snape. I rejected Umbridge. Firenze’s message can’t mean anything like that.”

Malfoy continued to stare at him solemnly. “Snape and Umbridge weren’t important to you. They weren’t your family. The note said what you sought _most_ to reject. You spent your life rejecting them, rejecting their world.”

“They rejected me too!” Harry yelped. “It’s not like it means anything. I think you’re clutching at straws, Malfoy.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes suddenly. “I thought we weren’t calling each other by last names anymore.”

“Oh, right,” Harry said. To his horror, he started to blush. “Draco.”

Malfoy relaxed his eyes again, but raised his eyebrow instead. “I wouldn’t have taken you as a blusher, Potter,” he said with a smirk.

This time Harry narrowed his eyes. “You’re right,” Harry said through mock gritted teeth. “Let’s keep it at first names from now on.”

Malfoy laughed, his face changing again with the relaxed expression. As Harry studied his face, no less surprised by the transformation as he had been the first time, Malfoy took advantage of Harry’s distraction and leaned in, pressing his lips against Harry’s.

Harry started slightly, everything feeling new and different now that it was a new morning. He relaxed and leaned forward into the kiss, running his hands along Malfoy’s face and into his hair. He felt Malfoy relax beneath his lips and they gently fell back against the couch, the conversation forgotten.

“So, Harry,” Malfoy said suddenly, pulling back. “I think we should pay your relatives a visit,” he said.

Harry groaned. Then he remembered something more about the note. “But I wouldn’t care if I lost them to someone less worthy.” He said. “Worthy or not, they can have them. Frankly, I shudder to think of a person who _wouldn’t_ be worthy of having the Dursleys.”

“It probably means you lose the wand,” Malfoy said. “Poor use of pronouns. Don’t blame him, he probably missed a grammar lesson or two. Too busy stargazing.”

Harry sighed and pushed off the couch. “Fine, let’s get this over with. Though I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

Malfoy shrugged. “Give them a hug or something.” He stood up. “Maybe we should bring the wand. It might give us some indication of whether we’re on the right path.”

Harry nodded and retrieved the wand from its place in the magical pouch. He held it up.

“That’s strange,” he muttered. “It doesn’t feel like it used to.”

“Can I hold it?” Malfoy asked, his eyes eager although he held himself back.

Harry passed him the wand.

“Feels like a normal wand,” he said, disappointed.

“Well, you’re not the owner,” Harry said. “I think it’s meant to feel normal. But it’s meant to be impressive to me.”

“Maybe you’re not trying hard enough,” Malfoy said, passing it back. “Give it a wave at the Dursleys. If they’re not what you’re meant to accept, I promise I’ll let you turn them into frogs.”

Harry laughed and slipped the wand back into the pouch. “Hagrid tried to turn Dudley into a pig once.”

Malfoy burst out laughing. “Maybe the oaf isn’t so bad,” he said lightly.

They walked to the front step and disapparated to Privet drive.

Harry sighed again, preparing himself for the onslaught of yelling that was sure to greet him, and knocked on the door of Number 4. Malfoy stood next to him, looking at the manicured garden curiously.

A solid wall of muscle opened the door.

“Hi, Big D,” Harry said with a grin.

Dudley made an alarming choking noise. He swung the door wide open and stared at Harry. His eyes slid to Malfoy briefly and then back to Harry. “You’re alive,” he finally choked out.

Harry stared at him. The alarming choking noise Dudely had uttered began to threaten Harry’s vocal cords. He swallowed. “Yes,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“They said. You said.” Dudley was still staring at him like he was a ghost. “You couldn’t hide with us. You held a unique position in the anti-Vold-e-thingy. I thought that meant he was after you.”

Harry’s jaw worked, but no sound came out.

“It did,” Malfoy interrupted. “He was. Harry died. He came back to life. It’s a special thing he does to get more attention. It worked rather well. Can we come inside?”

Dudley’s jaw dropped. Harry’s muscles finally came back to life. He’d had enough of this. Deliriously, he found himself wishing for the old Dudley back.

“Get it together, Big D,” he muttered, shoving Dudley aside and walking into the house. It was like shoving a mountain, but Dudley fell back anyway. “Voldemort’s gone. You’re safe. You know this, obviously, since someone told you you could return to Privet Drive in safety.”

Dudley nodded, closing the door and looking a little less shocked. “Yeah. A letter came. Said the war was over. It didn’t say you lived though, and you never came back.”

Harry shook his head in bewilderment. “Look, Dudley, could you just hit me over the head or something? I think I preferred our special form of conversation. It was beautifully simple.”

Dudley grinned and finally moved into the hall. “Come on, then. Mum and Dad are in the kitchen.”

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who was grinning with delight. “This doesn’t mean you’re right,” Harry muttered. “Dudley was showing signs of this kind of madness last time I saw him. He’s just grown up a bit, that’s all.”

Malfoy continued to grin like a madman.

“Diddy?” Aunt Petunia called from the kitchen. “Who was at the door, sweety?”

“Harry’s home,” Dudley called, stepping aside so that Harry and Malfoy could move into the kitchen.

Aunt Petunia shrieked and dropped the bowl she was holding. It smashed into pieces in a grim parody of Kreacher this morning.

Uncle Vernon stood up from the table and glared at him. If Malfoy had thought Dudley’s greeting had meant Harry would be met with affection from his aunt and uncle, his hopes would have to be destroyed now. “What do you think you’re doing, showing your face back here, boy?” Uncle Vernon snarled.

“I missed you too,” Harry said, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed.

Aunt Petunia unfroze and retrieved a broom and tray from the cupboard. She began stiffly sweeping up the mess while Vernon continued to glare at Harry.

“Months go by, and you come waltzing in here now,” Vernon spat, his face turning red. “Not a single apology in all that time. Not one letter to apologise for the inconvenience you put us through. More than a year we were shuttled around by _your lot._ And then, suddenly it’s over! We get a nice little letter telling us to come on home, and that’s it! No care package. No convenience cheque for the time we spent being treated like common _refugees_ all because we were related to _you._ And now you come by. Well, you can just march right back out again! We raised you, fed you, clothed you. You’re not in danger any more and you have no reason to be on our premises and YOU ARE NOT WELCOME!” He roared the finally words and choked to a stop, his chest heaving dangerously.

“Sorry I didn’t think to send a postcard,” Harry shot back, ignoring Malfoy’s stiff posture by his side. “I was a little busy KILLING A DARK WIZARD.” He turned to Malfoy. “This isn’t right. It can’t be right. Let’s go. Please?”

Malfoy turned to him, his eyebrow raised in incredulity. “You might be right,” he said lazily. “I think we should take a look around, just to make sure we’re not missing something. Centaurs are not known for their simple instructions. Then let’s go.”

Harry nodded stiffly and turned around.

“And just where do you think you’re going, boy?” Vernon roared after him.

“I’m leaving, just like you said,” Harry yelled back.

“You better be walking straight out that door,” Uncle Vernon yelled. “There will be no ‘taking a look around’, boy. Not in my house.”

There was a noise like a fizzling electric light. Harry turned around and saw Vernon pressed up against the wall, a bright white rope tied tightly around him and across his mouth. His eyes darted furiously, but he couldn’t move. Petunia made a noise of protest, but didn’t move, while Dudley suddenly watched Malfoy warily.

“That will come off, Dursely, when we leave,” Malfoy said carefully. “So it’s in your best interests not to interrupt us any longer.”

Harry turned away and walked up the stairs to his old bedroom. He opened the door and saw it had been converted back into Dudley’s second bedroom. It was filled with weights and other gym equipment. He looked quickly in the cupboards and around the floor, but nothing jumped out at him. He couldn’t feel anything. This whole lead felt wrong.

He heard Malfoy come up behind him. “I don’t think this is right,” he said. “There’s nothing here.”

“I hate to say it,” Malfoy said, looking around with distaste. “But I think you’re right. These people aren’t your family. There’s nothing special about them. Let’s go.”

Harry led the way back down the stairs. He paused at the bottom and opened the door to the cupboard, just in case.

Malfoy pulled a face. “What are you checking a cupboard for?”

“It was my bedroom until I was eleven,” Harry said simply.

Malfoy froze. When Harry looked up, Malfoy’s face was twisted into an expression Harry had never seen on him before. Shock and… compassion?

A sharp crack rent the air, and Malfoy and Harry spun around to find Kreacher standing in the hallway.

“Masters, a message,” Kreacher said, looking worried and a little panicked. He floated a small orb in front of him, sending it up in front of Harry’s face. It was filled with a kind of smoke that mixed between midnight blue and deep black.

Malfoy drew a sharp intake of breath. “Don’t touch it,” he said.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“A challenge,” he said quietly. “Wizards used to send them as an invitation to a duel. It’s a message and a portkey, but they’re often designed to drain the traveler so that he’s too debilitated to fight properly when he arrives. Twilfitt would have to be an idiot to think you’d accept a challenge like this.”

As they watched, the midnight blue of the orb swirled and changed, revealing two faces that Harry recognised instantly, despite the blur of the smoke.

Malfoy groaned. “Alright, so he knew you were an idiot.” He waved his wand, releasing Uncle Vernon from the spell. Just as Vernon roared and charged up the hall toward them, he took hold of Harry’s arm and grabbed the orb, masking Ron and Hermione’s terrified faces with his hand.

 

 

**Chapter Seventeen**

 

The Dursley’s house disappeared in a flurry of wind and darkness. Harry held tightly to Malfoy lest they be separated and tried to see through the whirl of nothing. It wasn’t like apparating or like traveling by portkey. It was both somewhere in between and worse, with his whole body feeling like it had been ripped and torn and spread apart in the middle of a hurricane.

With a sharp crack the wind disappeared, although the darkness stayed. Harry peered around him, and in the faint sheen of some kind of light he saw Malfoy do the same.

“I don’t want to cause panic or alarm,” Malfoy said drily. “But I think we’re in a cage.”

Harry’s eyes focused on metal bars in front of him just as a blinding flash of green light filled the air, accompanied by the dreadful scream, “Avada Kadavra!”

Harry felt something solid hit him around the middle and he crashed to the floor. He winced as his head hit the ground and stars filled his vision, but took it as a good sign that he was still alive.

Malfoy moved from above Harry, where he had fallen pushing them both to the ground. He threw his wand arm up and snarled a curse in the direction the noise had come from. The door blew off the cage.

“Run,” Malfoy yelled, grabbing Harry and pulling him to his feet.

They pushed through the doorway and ran, trying to take in their surroundings at the same time. They appeared to be in some kind of warehouse. The cage was an abandoned elevator, now blasted off its cables and hanging loosely in the shaft, little more than a pile of rubble.

Movement to their left caught their eye: a black cloak whipping the air.

“Duck,” Malfoy hissed, shoving Harry bodily to the ground as another killing curse shot over the top of them.

“Sectumsempra!” Malfoy yelled, shooting his wand back toward Twilfitt. They heard a scream.

Harry whipped his head back to look at Malfoy, shocked.

“It’s not bloody amateur hour,” Malfoy snarled, shoving Harry to keep running. “This is not the time for a conscience.”

Another curse flew at them, missing widely but proving that Twilfitt was still alive.

“Harry!”

Hermione’s scream brought them to a crashing halt. Hidden behind a metal barrier, it took all of Harry’s willpower not to run toward her scream. If he did, he knew Twilfitt would kill him immediately.

He would say this for the Death Eater, he was a little more on task than Voldemort. Less talking, more action.

“Harry, don’t move! He has his wand pointed at you.” Hermione yelled, before a loud thud cut her off midway.

Harry flinched. Malfoy brought an arm up and rested a hand on his shoulder, both a warning and a comfort.

“You have ten seconds, Potter,” a new voice yelled. It sounded breathless, like he was badly injured. “Or I kill the girl. Another ten seconds and the redhead will follow. Ten. Nine.”

Harry ripped his shoulder from Malfoy’s grasp and moved to stand. Malfoy grabbed him and pulled him back.

“Eight. Seven.”

“If he kills you, he wins the wand.” Malfoy hissed, his face contorting viciously. “There’s always another way, remember!”

“What way?!” Harry hissed back, struggling to break free.

“Six. Five.”

“My way,” Malfoy said with a grin.

“Inferiate!” Malfoy yelled, jumping to his feet and aiming his wand over the barrier.

Harry leapt to his feet and laid eyes on Twilfitt for the first time. In the split second before Malfoy’s curse hit, Twilfitt aimed his wand at Harry and opened his mouth. Before he could speak, his face changed into a horrified mask of fear. He screamed.

Harry yelled “Protego,” aiming the shield charm over Ron and Hermione so that they were protected from everything but the Killing curse, which Twilfitt would hopefully be too preoccupied to use just now. He turned back to Twilfitt and recoiled as he saw the effects of Malfoy’s curse.

Three Inferi grappled over Twilfitt, pulling and dragging him down as he struggled. Malfoy dragged Harry away.

“It won’t last,” he said as they ran. “It’s just an illusion.”

They ducked behind another barrier as the Inferi began to fade. Malfoy yelled “Sectumsempra!” at Twilfitt again, this time hitting the side of his body. Twilfitt screamed, although it looked as though the fading Inferi had absorbed some of the curse. Before Twilfitt could react, Malfoy had thrown another curse, this one familiar to Harry. He had seen Bellatrix do it when she realised the Snatchers had the sword of Gryffindor.

The rope twisted around Twilfitt, hurling him through the air, far away from Ron and Hermione. Harry saw, to his relief that Hermione had managed to free herself and was working on helping Ron, although they didn’t seem to have their wands.

Twilfitt had already recovered. He staggered to his feet with a curse and aimed his wand at Harry.

“Time to run,” Malfoy said lightly, shoving Harry away again. “Split up and make as much noise as possible,” he yelled, running backwards. “And hit him with as many curses as you can so he can’t think or aim.”

Harry hesitated, but ran forward. He saw metal stairs ahead of him and leaped onto them, making as much noise as he could. When he reached the mezzanine that wrapped around the warehouse, more than two storeys high, he sent a stunning spell at Twilfitt who dodged just in time. Ron and Hermione were nowhere to be seen, presumably having made it to safety.

Malfoy must have been on the other side of the ground floor, because a jet of fire roared through the floor, missing Twilfitt narrowly. Twilfitt sent an immediate shoot of fire back in the same direction.

Harry flinched. His knowledge of curses was painfully limited compared to Malfoy’s, and it was clear that this intense, relentless stream of curses, rather than simple hexes and spells, was what they needed to wear Twilfitt down. It meant that Malfoy was more likely to draw Twilfitt’s attention.

Harry sent another stun down at Twilfitt. “I’m up here!” He yelled, running along the metal mezzanine and hoping Twilfitt took the bait. Then Malfoy could stun him from behind and they could get out of here.

He heard Malfoy fire a stunning spell that clearly missed, and then Twilfitt’s footsteps were clattering up the stairs.

Harry turned back to the front and skidded to a halt as he realised he had reached the top of the elevator that he and Malfoy had materialized in. Unfortunately, it was just as broken at the top as it was at the bottom, and a steep drop led down to a mangled pile of metal and machinery. He turned to climb around it, but saw Twilfitt had caught up to him.

“Sectumsempra!” Harry yelled, forcing Twilfitt to duck for cover.

Harry backed up, but there was nowhere to go. When Twilfitt rounded the corner of the mezzanine, there would be no cover between Harry and the next corner. He would never reach it in time. A stunning spell fired over Twilfitt’s head, but the angle of the mezzanine barrier meant there was no chance of it hitting him. Harry looked down to see Malfoy standing in the open, his face contorted in anger and frustration. Ron and Hermione were running out to him from where it seemed the three of them had been hiding.

And here Harry was, yet again trying to escape from death even though Voldemort was long gone.

That was when it hit him. What had he always sought most to reject, but death? Even when he had accepted it last year, it hadn’t happened, had it? Did Death feel cheated, as he had with the brothers?

Harry turned back to Twilfitt, who had been forced to duck beneath another of Malfoy’s Inferi illusions followed by a stunning spell.

When Twilfitt reached him, Harry would die. There was nowhere to hide, and the fall was too far for him to survive, even if Twilfitt only knocked him over the edge. Twilfitt would win the wand, unless Harry accepted what he had always sought most to reject.

If Harry died before Twilfitt could reach him, Twilfitt would never win the wand. He would be just another pathetic Death Eater trying for power well above his means.

Another thought hit him. He turned his head to stare at Malfoy, who was sending curse after curse at Twilfitt, keeping him behind cover but never reaching him. Malfoy seemed to catch Harry’s movement, and turned slightly to share a glance, his eyes full of frustration. Something in Harry’s face must have shown, and for a split second, Malfoy froze.

Malfoy was the previous owner of the Elder Wand, even if he had never been able to use it. If Harry died while the previous owner still lived, could it revert back to him? If Harry gave him the wand, could he make it work?

And if he left him the cloak, too, passed on through death, Malfoy would only need to find the stone to achieve Mastery, whatever Mastery turned out to be. Harry found an amusing sort of irony in the fact that he had always rejected Malfoy, too.

Malfoy’s face drained of colour. “No, you idiot!” He yelled. “You’ve got it wrong!” The arm holding the wand dropped slightly.

“Draco, I give you my Invisibility cloak!” Harry yelled, and threw him the Elder wand.

Twilfitt stood and rounded the corner. He brandished his wand and yelled “Avada Kedavra!” just as Harry leaped over the side of the balcony toward the crumpled pile of metal and debris below. He heard a roar of fury from Twilfitt as the curse flew over his head.

Then an enormous pain shot through him. More than the sensation of metal tearing him on impact, he felt like he was on fire. It took him a second to realise that there was no feeling of impact, only a burning, floating sensation.

Looking to his side, he saw that he was suspended in mid-air, with Malfoy glaring at him in fury. Malfoy’s wand arm was raised and he held the Elder Wand aimed at Harry, appearing to hold him in a glowing cocoon of what looked almost like fire. It certainly felt like fire.

Malfoy yanked his wand arm back and Harry flew through the air, landing in a roll at Malfoy’s feet.

“You promised you wouldn’t be a stupid Gryffindor,” Malfoy hissed.

Harry groaned. “But death was what I had to accept. What I kept rejecting.”

“No it wasn’t, you idiot,” Malfoy snapped, barely looking to throw a curse at Twilfitt, who had run back to the stairs. “From now on, you let me or Granger do the thinking. I told Granger the centaur’s message and she figured it out.”

Harry turned to Hermione, who was standing a little back from him with Ron, looking as though she was scared to touch him. Looking down at himself, he realised he was still cocooned in the glowing fire.

Ron wrinkled his nose. “You alright, mate?” he asked.

“Can we postpone the touching reunion for a minute?” Malfoy sneered, finally managing to pin Twilfitt against the wall with a body-bind. He unfortunately slid out of sight, and so was temporarily out of range.

“Harry, it wasn’t death you had to accept. You never really rejected death, even though you fought it,” Hermione said quickly. “If you unite the three Hallows, you achieve Mastery: ultimate power. When I read further, Grindelwald’s book explained it. Mastery means you no longer require a wand as a conduit for magic, _you_ become a conduit. The wand transforms you into a magical creature with power well beyond a wizard.”

Harry blanched. “But I don’t want ultimate power.”

“Exactly,” Hermione said pointedly.

Harry felt his jaw go slack. All his life, he had rejected power as much as he could, accepting only what he had to in order to save others. He started to shake his head vigorously. “No. I don’t want it. Give it to someone else.”

“Well, we have quite an eager volunteer over there,” Malfoy said, jerking his head toward Twilfitt. “So if you’re going to say no, I think we can all guess who might step up to the task.”

“Just accept it, Harry,” Hermione said. “Dumbledore already said you were the best kind of person to be given power.”

“But think of what I could do with it,” Harry said, his face white.

“Exactly,” Malfoy interrupted. “Think of what you could do with it. And then don’t do it, if it’s a bad thing. Or do it, if it’s a good thing. You can make that choice later. Right now, you have only one choice to make and its a pretty clear answer.” He shoved the wand at Harry. “Take it,” he said.

Harry paused before slowly reaching out to take the wand. “But we don’t have the other two Hallows,” he said.

To that, Malfoy held up the stone with a smirk. “Twilfitt dropped it during all the curses I threw at him at the start. Granger picked it up.”

“And, Harry, the cloak can’t be stolen,” Hermione said. “It can only be gifted or passed down through the generations.”

“So you can have it back,” Malfoy said. “I don’t want it.”

Harry nodded slowly. He held up the Elder wand. It felt like it had before, light and almost alive, but more-so, now that the stone was no longer hidden in the forest but back in his possession. He held it up just as Malfoy doubled over in pain and shock.

Without making a sound, he crumpled to the floor, a pool of blood spilling alarmingly quickly beneath him.

Harry made a cry of despair and moved to grab him, when he felt something change in the air nearby. Reacting on impulse, feeling for a split second as if he were back on the oval with Malfoy, doing a Seekers’ run with the cloak, Harry aimed his wand at empty air and fired a stunning spell.

There was a sound of the spell hitting something solid, and then the cloak slipped aside to reveal Twilfitt standing metres from them. He must have shielded, since he was unharmed. He threw the cloak aside and grinned at Harry, although there was a look of careful suspicion in his eyes that Harry had located him so easily.

“We’ll go back to the hostage situation, will we?” Twilfitt said, smiling and pointing his wand at Hermione. “That worked well. You could hex me, but which one of you could I kill first? I don’t think you’ll risk it.” He aimed a sneer down at Malfoy. “Didn’t think you’d partner up with a Death Eater. How hypocritical of you, Savior. I’ll have to admit, I wasn’t prepared for you to play dirty.”

“You shut up,” Harry warned, raising the Elder Wand.

“I don’t think so,” Twilfitt said, smiling. “This was meant to be a very easy task. Kill you immediately, don’t waste time talking like the Dark Lord loved to do. But you’ve really pissed me off, now. I think I might enjoy dragging this out.” He flicked his wand and Ron dropped to his knees with a whimper. A deep line of blood began to spill from his stomach where it looked as though something had split him open.

Harry made a move, but Twilfitt snarled at him. “Don’t move!” Twilfitt yelled.

“Who the hell are you?” Harry yelled back, trying to draw his attention from hurting anyone else. “I’ve never even heard of you. You’re a nothing. What are you doing, trying to get the Elder Wand? You really think you can pull it off?”

Twilfitt sneered. “I know I can,” he said. “The Dark Lord made the mistake of fearing death so much he had to secure his safety before pursuing the Hallows. He convinced himself that he was too powerful to really need them, but look where that got him.”

“You’re a pathetic nobody,” Harry repeated. “You could never be worthy of the Hallows.” He closed his eyes briefly, drawing strength, and opened them again, making his decision.

“You will live to regret that,” Twilfitt yelled, his face contorting with rage. As he opened his mouth, the Killing Curse on the tip of his tongue, Harry flicked his wrist experimentally.

The same stream of fire that had cocooned him to safety enveloped the Death Eater. As Harry watched, Twilfitt screamed and was gone, his body disintegrated in a fire so hot it left no trace.

Harry pulled back his hand and the fire disappeared. Looking down, he saw that it had finally gone from his body as well. Hermione dropped to her knees and grabbed Ron, checking his pulse frantically.

Harry dropped down beside Malfoy and rolled him over so that he was looking at Harry’s face. His eyes were wide and unseeing. Harry made a noise of despair and ducked his head to Malfoy’s chest. After several agonizing moments, he felt warm breath on his skin.

He grabbed onto Hermione’s shoulder and disapparated them to St. Mungos.

 

 

**Chapter Eighteen**

 

“Bring me more pudding,” Malfoy declared, waving his empty bowl at Kreacher.

Kreacher hurried to fill Malfoy’s bowl, bringing an extra back for Ron as well. Ron glared at Malfoy, but accepted the bowl, seeming torn between wanting Malfoy gone and being appreciative that his arrogance had gained Ron food. He adjusted his blanket and sank deeper into the armchair in Harry’s living room.

“So what’s it like being the most powerful wizard in the world?” Ron asked Harry, his tone deceptively light.

Harry shrugged. “Warm,” he said, unable to think of any other way to describe the current of magic he could constantly feel just within reach.

“Decided what you’re going to do with it yet?” Malfoy asked. “Destroy some cities? Enslave some people?”

Ron opened his mouth in disgust before realising Malfoy was joking. He shut it again and went back to glaring.

“So, if you hadn’t accepted the power, you would have lost both the power and the wand, since Twilfitt would have won,” Malfoy said conversationally around a spoonful of pudding. “Damn confusing centaurs.”

Harry nodded. “I hate divination,” he muttered.

Hermione walked in, her nose in a book. “I’ve been thinking, Harry,” she began.

Harry and Malfoy shared a look.

Hermione went on, oblivious. “I want to test something. Can you give the wand to Malfoy?”

“I like you, Granger,” Malfoy said quickly. “I always thought you were too good for these two. Always said it, right from the start.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Hermione said, although her lips quirked in a smile. “Harry, could you?”

Harry passed over the Elder Wand. Malfoy accepted it eagerly. “What now?” he asked.

Hermione shrugged. “Wave it around.”

Malfoy waved it around. Ron yelped as his armchair rose immediately, hovering above the ground.

“Interesting,” Hermione said softly.

Malfoy returned the couch to the ground with a frown. “That was easy,” he said. “It was like the wand wanted to do it.”

“That’s how it feels for me,” Harry said slowly.

Hermione grinned triumphantly, although she looked faintly worried. “Do you feel any different, Malfoy?” she asked. “Since the warehouse?”

“Apart from feverish and sore?” Malfoy asked. “Not really.”

“You shouldn’t be feverish,” Hermione protested. “You checked out healthy from St. Mungos.”

Malfoy shrugged. “Well then, yes I feel a little strange. Why?”

“I think you’re both the masters of the Elder Wand,” Hermione announced.

Ron bolted upright, spilling pudding over the carpet. “You what?!” he yelped. “Please tell me I misheard you just then.”

“I’m not sure how,” Hermione continued. “But Malfoy seemed to tap the same power as Harry when he used the wand to save Harry from the fall.” She shot Harry an annoyed look, just to remind him he wasn’t forgiven yet. “It doesn’t make sense. Everything I read says there should only be one master.”

Harry remembered how both he and Draco had seemed able to use each others’ wands as if they were their own. He told Hermione, but that only seemed to confuse her further.

“It doesn’t make sense,” she insisted. “The wand chooses the wizard. One wand, one wizard. That’s how it’s always been.”

“Has it, though?” Malfoy asked suddenly.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Ron said automatically, obviously reluctant to have Malfoy contribute to their usual theory discussions. Harry gave Ron a pointed look, which he ignored.

“What if it never had to be one wizard per wand,” Malfoy continued, shooting Ron a glare. “That was just the convention. After all, how many wizards would want to share their wands when they bond so strongly to them? It could be a misconception.”

Hermione looked excited. “Yes, and you and Harry have already shared wands, haven’t you? He had your wand for ages before he gave it back, and you’ve both been the owner of the Elder Wand, except you’re both still alive, which hasn’t happened since Dumbledore and Grindelwald.”

“Except they never owned the other two Hallows,” Harry filled in, starting to get into the theory. “So their only link was the wand, not the whole tapping-directly-into-magic thing.”

“It fits,” Hermione said, looking smug. “You’ve demonstrated some kind of partnership, which the Elder Wand has obviously latched onto. Particularly since Harry gave Malfoy the cloak as he was falling.” She shot Harry another glare. “And Malfoy found the stone, but gave it to Harry.” She frowned. “You’ve consistently shown the exact opposite kind of behaviour to what the Hallows are used to.”

Harry grinned. “You should be pleased, Hermione,” he said. “Think what it could mean for post-war wizarding relations.”

Hermione smiled brightly. “You’re right,” she said. “You two should do an interview about it. Only-” she trailed off, looking suddenly crestfallen. “How exactly are you going to share the wand?” She slid a sideways glance at Malfoy. “You two don’t exactly work well together.”

Malfoy coughed politely while Harry suddenly found the carpet fascinating. He risked a glance at Hermione and found her watching him shrewdly.

“So, you never explained how you figured out the Hallows,” he said quickly.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, but burst into the explanation she had obviously been holding back. “Well, it was all about interpreting what the book was saying about magical creatures, wasn’t it?” she said. “You see?” she pressed, when Harry looked blank.

“No.” Harry shook his head.

“It was referring to centaurs and house elves and goblins,” Hermione went on, ignoring him. “Because the master of the Hallows becomes stronger than any magical creature in existence,” she said, sounding awed. “Harry, you-” she paused and looked at Malfoy. “Both of you are the first wizards to own all three Hallows in centuries. No one seems to have held them for long. Partly because people can steal the stone so easily, or resort to treachery to kill the wizard and steal the wand, but also because of the toll such power can take.”

Harry winced. “Toll?” he asked.

Hermione nodded, looking unperturbed. “That’s why you need all three to unlock the true power of the Elder Wand. Otherwise it’s just a really powerful wand. For the wand to truly accept you as its master, and to make you a conduit for magic, you have to prove that you can survive its power. They are called the Deathly Hallows not because they make you the master of death, although that does make a lovely children’s tale, but as a warning that so much power held by someone unworthy can only lead to death. The Hallows are deathly; they can cause death. And the wand chooses the wizard. The Elder wand chooses he who is master of concealment and wisdom - the cloak and the stone - so that he may have the best chance of surviving the Hallows.”

Harry nodded slowly. “And that’s us,” he finished lamely, looking at Malfoy. Malfoy looked suitably stunned.

“Yes,” Hermione said. She looked deeply concerned, flicking another glance at Malfoy. “Like I said, the wand seemed to pick up on the link you two had formed by sharing your wands so freely. Add to that that you were probably the first two wizards to throw the other Hallows back and forth between each other without any greed at all, and it isn’t such a big jump for the wand to choose its last two living masters as worthy of the full power of the Hallows. You were demonstrating great wisdom after all.”

Harry sat back, feeling like the air had been knocked out of him.

“You’re going to have to be careful though,” Hermione warned. “Just look at Twilfitt. He was just an ordinary wizard, obsessed with power. He was no Voldemort, but he became incredibly dangerous from the lure of the Hallows alone. He’s not going to be the only one.”

“How did he find you two?” Harry asked, remembering suddenly.

Hermione pulled a face. “He had been watching Nurmengard,” she admitted. “I should have been more careful. Naturally he would be hoping you would show yourself there looking for information on the Hallows, so he could get in a sneak attack without actually confronting you. As it happened, we presented a pretty good hostage solution.”

“Wait, hang on,” Ron interrupted, staring wide-eyed at Harry and Hermione. “We’re okay with this git having more power than any other wizard in the world?” He pointed at Malfoy. “We’re just going to go, ‘oh, okay’, and move on?”

“Watch it, Weasley,” Malfoy said with a sneer. “I can make you vomit slugs for eternity if you’re not careful.”

Harry gave Malfoy a warning look.

“Except I wouldn’t do that, of course,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. “Because I am lordly and merciful.”

Ron snorted, although his eyes clearly showed alarm.

“He won’t do it,” Harry said, looking directly at Ron. “Really.” He coughed, knowing that he had to tell Ron and Hermione the truth about he and Malfoy, but finding the words too difficult to say.

“Harry will keep me in check, won’t you dear?” Malfoy said sarcastically. Harry looked at Malfoy with a mixture of relief that Malfoy had made the first step and alarm that it was now out of his hands. Malfoy met his gaze with exasperation.

“Dear?” Ron snorted. “What the hell, Malfoy? When did you get a sense of humor?”

“I don’t think they’re joking, Ron,” Hermione said quietly, looking back and forth between Harry and Malfoy.

“What do you mean?” Ron asked, frowning. “What aren’t they joking about? Harry keeping Malfoy in check? Well I bloody hope they’re not joking about that, Malfoy needs a good kick up the arse if he’s going to have this kind of power.” He trailed off at the expression on Hermione’s face. “What?” he asked, looking at Harry.

Harry groaned and leaned back in the armchair, looking up. “Draco and I are dating,” he said to the ceiling.

Ron laughed. The laughter stopped. “Dating?” he asked finally, after a long silence. “What, like, romantically?”

Malfoy snorted. “Potter couldn’t romance someone if he was under a love spell. But yes, Weasley. Your incredible powers of deduction have hit the mark.”

There was another long pause. Harry looked back down at Ron to find he had turned almost the colour of his hair. Ron turned to Harry beseechingly. “He’s kidding, right, Harry?”

“No, Ron,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I was going to lead up to telling you two I was gay, but I guess it didn’t work out that way.” A thought hit him. “Your mum knows. And George. And your dad. And Ginny. Not about Draco, but that I’m gay. It slipped out.”

“It slipped out,” Ron echoed.

A surprised gasp made Harry suddenly remember Hermione. He whipped his head back to look at her and saw that she had grabbed Malfoy by the collar and dragged him nose to nose. “If you even think about hurting him,” she hissed. “I’ll make you wish you’d never been born, you little cockroach.” She shoved him back with a glare. Then her face changed and she suddenly smiled. “I’m so pleased you’re both happy,” she said, beaming at the two of them. “And it bodes really well for the Elder Wand situation.”

Malfoy slowly adjusted his shirt collar back to normal, staring at Hermione like she had grown two heads. “Yeah,” he said distantly. “It does.” He shook his head. “So, should we schedule a press release, sweety?” he asked with a smirk, turning back to Harry.

The sound of the front door opening broke the conversation. Ginny stepped through the door, bearing a gigantic basket of flowers which she immediately deposited on Malfoy’s lap. “I heard you saved Harry,” she said, bending down and giving him a kiss on the cheek. She took in the expressions on the three of their faces, still frozen in mixtures of shock and revelation from the previous conversation, and grinned. “Was it enough to finally sweep him off his feet?”

Malfoy stammered, staring at her as if she had suddenly grown two heads and both were Hermione’s.

Ginny laughed. “I saw you follow him out at the speed dating, you idiot,” she said. “Looking all manly and pissed off. It was adorable. I’m glad Dave’s gone, he was a right git.”

Harry’s mouth moved up and down in a wonderful mimicry of a fish. “You never said,” he stammered finally.

Ginny shrugged. “It would have been rude. Hermione told me you and Malfoy were all cuddly at the hospital though, so I figured something good had finally happened.”

“Er, hi,” Ron said, waving at Ginny. “I’m your brother, I don’t know if you remember me. I got really injured a couple of days ago. It’s lovely of you to visit.” He looked pointedly at Malfoy’s flowers. Malfoy covered them with his arm defensively and glared at Ron.

Ginny waved her hand dismissively. “You always get injured. And you didn’t save Harry. And you’re not new to the family.”

Ron spluttered indignantly. “That git is _not_ part of the family,” he managed before suddenly looking at Harry and wincing. “He might be… distantly… accepted… several times removed or something…” he muttered.

“Oh, before I forget,” Ginny said, handing Harry a letter. “I grabbed it off Edgar on the way in. And I’ve got someone waiting outside. If it’s okay, would you be able to let her in?”

“Sure,” Harry said, standing up and opening the letter. “Hey,” he said excitedly. “They’re giving me a tryout for the English quidditch team!” he said, waving the letter.

“Brilliant, Harry!” Ron said, looking like a man at sea who had suddenly found solid land. “Krum said you were interested!”

“Congratulations, Harry,” Hermione said with a smile.

Harry grinned and tucked the letter into his pocket. He followed Ginny to the door and opened it to a tall brunette who looked vaguely familiar. He thought she might have been a couple of years below them at Hogwarts.

“Hi, I’m Harry,” he said, stepping forward with a smile. “It’s twelve and a half Grimmauld place,” he said, watching her expression of surprise and delight when the house materialised in front of her.

“I’ve never seen that before,” she said, looking around in wonder. “That’s amazing.”

Harry grinned. He liked her more than Christa already. Ginny immediately linked arms with the girl and led her into the house. Harry followed and sat down next to Malfoy on the couch, leaning back and linking their hands together. Malfoy smiled at him and leaned his head on top of Harry’s.

Ron didn’t notice. He was too busy looking at the girl with dawning shock and comprehension, while Hermione looked suddenly amused.

“Everyone,” Ginny said as Harry sat back down on his armchair. “I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Astoria Greengrass.”

 

 

**Wow. Okay, so when I started this fan fiction I was only intending to write something about 8000 words maximum and not put it up anywhere... that changed somewhat. I hope I explained my idea about the Hallows clearly enough. Not that I don't like what J.K did with them, but I thought this would be a fun way of extending the story.**

 

**As you can see, it's left kind of open to a continuation of the story line, so I'll probably come back at some point and write more. Thank you all for reading and sticking with it to the end, it's been fun! :)**


	2. Christmas Oneshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas: a time for presents and family. In the first Christmas since the war, everyone is feeling their losses. But instead of rallying together, Draco is withdrawing from Harry. Can Harry figure out how to help him, or will he withdraw completely? One shot. Kinda slashy. Sweet/cute. HPDM. RWHG.

The soft jingle of bells sounded outside the kitchen window, coupled with the inviting, although sudden, scent of holly. Sudden, as if someone had grabbed an air freshener and spritzed it through Harry's open window while flying past. Which they had. Thirty two times in the past week.

Harry gritted his teeth as he watched the enchanted toy santa zoom into the distance, yelling "Ho, ho, ho" aggressively behind him. One of the wizards or witches in the area had decided to get into the spirit of the season with enough zest for the entire community, and their menagerie of magical decorations – invisible to muggles – was getting a little out of hand the closer they drew to the 25th.

Malfoy stepped up behind Harry, startling him. Malfoy moved so quietly these days that Harry was forever getting a surprise when he entered or exited a room.

"Morning," Harry said.

"Mph," Malfoy grunted in reply.

Harry frowned, but Malfoy was too busy staring at his tea to notice.

"I was going to do some shopping later, if you wanted to come," Harry said warily.

The now familiar blank look slid across Malfoy's face. Harry bit his tongue to prevent himself from acknowledging the expression. He knew that if he asked Malfoy what was wrong, Malfoy would only become more brooding and less inclined to talk. Besides, there was no point in asking. Harry knew what was wrong. Six years of sitting across from Malfoy in the Great Hall, watching care package after care package delivered for every occasion – particularly seasonal holidays – meant he'd have to be an idiot not to know.

The problem was that he didn't know what to do with the knowledge. His relationship experience was painfully limited. His relationship experience with Malfoy was still so absurd that the prospect of offering comfort for something so intense left him feeling mildly ridiculous. Malfoy had led them to where they were now. With Malfoy withdrawing from him, Harry had no idea where to move from here. He sighed and stood up.

"I might go now," he said. "Try and beat the crowds."

Malfoy nodded, but said nothing. Harry left him at the table and moved to the fireplace, thinking vaguely of Flooing Ginny to see if she was free to help him. He changed his mind at the last second and Floo'd Hermione instead.

"You still haven't done your Christmas shopping?" Hermione asked reprovingly. "Harry, there's only one week until Christmas!"

"Haven't _finished_ shopping," Harry corrected her. "I've got most of it." He paused. "Well, some of it. Anyway, did you want to come or not?"

Hermione sniffed. "Well, I have to exchange Dad's present, since it was faulty. So sure, I'll come."

"Thanks, Hermione." Harry beamed. "I'll meet you outside the Leaky Cauldron in ten minutes."

Hermione gave him a final look and withdrew from the fire.

In the hallway, Harry paused. Should he go and say goodbye to Malfoy? Hermione was so much better at this stuff. He'd ask her. He walked out the front door and apparated to the Leaky Cauldron.

While he was waiting for Hermione, he decided to check his list.

_Ron – Quidditch?_

_Ginny – Advanced charms spellbook_

_Hermione – Not a book._

_Mrs Weasley – Lady Levina's Perfect Perfume_

_Mr Weasley – Muggle television_

_Hagrid – Something that won't kill him..._

_Teddy – Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes: something from the infant range_

He still had no idea what to get for Ron, but he figured Hermione might have some ideas. He had seen Hermione eying off an expensive watch when they went shopping last. As well as telling the time, it reminded you when you had gone too long without completing an important task, like assessing your budget or calling your mother. Harry thought it sounded nosy and annoying, but Hermione had lingered over it almost lovingly, and he knew that although a book was always appreciated, she also looked longingly at the beautiful jewellery Ginny was always given. He'd tried to hint as much to Ron but had gotten nowhere.

He had left the rest of the Weasley siblings off his present list so that they didn't feel obligated to reciprocate, but Mr Weasley's gift had been easy. Harry had gotten his present first and was already looking forward to sneaking out to the shed Mrs Weasley pretended she didn't know about and setting it up for him. He crossed a line through Mr Weasley and then crossed a line through Hagrid's note and wrote "bearded dragon". Although it might not be a real dragon, it was at least legal and he knew Hagrid would appreciate the company as well as something to care for, particularly since Fang was getting older.

He gazed at the list and felt a pang as he thought of the people who would have been on there if not for the war. Lupin, Tonks, Fred, even Snape. Harry would have enjoyed giving Snape a present just for the look on his face. Most likely suspicion, mingled with poorly disguised disgust in an attempt at being polite. Or maybe Snape would have thanked him. Harry would never know.

He put the list away just as Hermione came up behind him.

"Hey," he said, standing up and giving her a smile.

"Hi, Harry," Hermione said, beaming, her ire apparently forgotten.

Harry realised it had been a long time since they had caught up as just the two of them. He had missed her.

"Where did you want to go first?" she asked as they made their way into Diagon Alley.

"Did you want to help me pick a charms spellbook for Ginny?" he asked. "She's been getting really good, I thought she might like to try some new, interesting ones."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "I know a really good one that's just been published," she said. "They're all tricky little charms that can be used to make games and things."

"Games?" Harry asked, following her to Flourish and Blotts.

"Yes," Hermione said. "Like charming masses of objects to fly at you and then shooting them down with sparks, that sort of thing."

It sounded like just the kind of energetic and vaguely destructive thing that Ginny would enjoy. It sounded perfect. Hermione found the book easily and suggested a Focus quill for Ron, who was sitting the auror academy entrance exam sometime next year.

"It's not cheating," she insisted. "It doesn't make you smarter. It just helps you concentrate."

Harry grinned at her protestations and, under Hermione's disapproving gaze, added a large pile of chocolate frogs to the bag with Ron's Focus quill. He knew she thought Ron ate too many sweets.

They finished off their shopping quite quickly, despite the crowds. Hermione politely pretended not to notice that Harry brought Jumping Jigglebugs Toddler Food for Teddy. Harry had read the note on the shelf and couldn't resist.

_Upon consumption (by toddler): Jumping Jigglebugs will make even the drabbest of mums and dads jump and dance unwittingly for their toddler's amusement. Complete with discrete packaging to ensure an unsuspecting victim. The perfect purchase for the uncle or aunt with a sense of humour._

Since Teddy would likely be fed by the very proper Grandma Tonks, Teddy could be assured a rare and entertaining sight.

Finally, they settled for ice creams at the newly re-decorated Florean Fortescue's.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Hermione asked, sipping daintily at a Seven Mint Sundae.

Harry sighed. "I don't know what to do with Draco." He looked up at Hermione. Her face was set in a resigned, although slightly pained, expression.

"I'm not sure I'll be able to give the best relationship advice about-" she paused. "Draco," she finished. "But I'll try. What's he done?"

Harry laughed. "Nothing like that. He's depressed. It's family season. This is the first Christmas since the war, we're all feeling losses. But Draco has lost his father, and his mother is just as unreachable even if she is alive."

"Have you had any luck appealing her case?" Hermione asked quietly.

Harry shook his head, his face grim. "They've accepted that she made a 'contribution to the war effort' by saving me, but they're still tallying her war crimes," he said bitterly.

Hermione grimaced. "They don't want to let her go, do they?"

Harry shook his head again. There was a long pause.

"It's such a shame that Death Eaters are refused visitors," Hermione said suddenly, her voice light. "You would think that her 'contribution' would earn her that much."

Harry glance up, confused by her tone. She was staring at him pointedly. It clicked.

"Hermione, you're-"

"This sundae is delicious," she interrupted. "How's yours?"

Harry paused and then decided to let it go. He pulled a face. "Pretty terrible actually. Every Flavour Sundaes aren't as good as they sound."

Hermione laughed. They finished their sundaes and spent the rest of the afternoon buying little things to put in stockings.

Hermione gave him a big hug when they said goodbye. Harry appreciated it as her way of showing him support. She didn't yet like Malfoy, but she was trying for Harry, and he loved her for it.

When he arrived home, he could hear swearing coming from the living room. He walked in cautiously. Malfoy was bent over something on the coffee table, his back to Harry. He was muttering furiously under his breath.

"Draco?"

Malfoy jumped up and spun around, his eyes wide. He shoved his hands behind his back, looking like a kid who had been caught stealing cookies.

"Potter," he sneered, then seemed to catch himself. He frowned. "Harry." He made some kind of movement behind his back and then stood normally, his hands empty by his sides.

Harry frowned. "Are you alright?" he asked. Malfoy had been off for several weeks now, but he had never reverted to their past behaviour before.

Malfoy grunted, but it wasn't the vacant-eyed dismissals he had been giving to that question lately. He looked uncomfortable, like he wished Harry wasn't there.

"I'm fine," he said, moving toward Harry and looking slightly more normal.

Harry reached out and grasped his shoulder as he tried to move past, toward the door. Malfoy stopped and looked at him. There was a split second where Harry was sure he saw irritation in Malfoy's eyes. "You can talk to me, you know," he said, watching Malfoy closely.

This time, he saw pain there. "I don't want to talk about it," Malfoy said roughly, twisting out of Harry's shoulder and walking past.

The last few days until Christmas passed quickly. Harry was distracted trying to correspond with Shacklebot in secret. It took a surprising amount of convincing for them to grant his request, even with who he was and what Malfoy had done to help track down the remaining Death Eaters. It was a grim wake up call to the likely outcome of Narcissa's trial, but Harry tried not to dwell on that.

It was depressingly easy to hide what he was doing from Malfoy. Malfoy didn't seek him out at all. All he could hear from Malfoy's room were loud noises of things breaking and smashing, accompanied by Malfoy's swearing. Occasionally he would hear the same noises from the living room. Harry had no idea what any of it meant, and he tried not to dwell on that either.

On Christmas Eve, Ron Floo'd Harry.

"Hi, Harry," he said, grinning up from the fireplace.

"Hey, Ron," Harry said, grinning back. "Shouldn't you be helping your mum get ready for tomorrow?"

"Nah, I'm just getting in the way," Ron said, pulling a face. "She made come and Floo you. Said it was something I was sure to be able to manage."

Harry laughed.

Ron grinned and then looked suddenly hesitant. "Hey," he said carefully. "You never asked about Malfoy."

Harry stiffened slightly. He had assumed it was too much too quickly to invite Malfoy to the Weasley Christmas lunch given all the bad history between the two families. He hadn't mentioned it to anyone, but he had just assumed that he and Malfoy would have a quiet Christmas lunch by themselves. And hopefully neither of them would get too depressed at all the faces that should be there, but weren't.

"So I had to tell mum myself," Ron continued, glaring at Harry reproachfully. Harry frowned, confused. "So you owe me big time for that, mate. Making me talk nicely about that gi-" He made a strong effort to stop himself. "That person. Your-" he paused. "Person. Anyway. Having to tell mum you two were dating and then have her yell at me about why you weren't here telling her yourself and did you really think that she was that prejudiced to tar an entire family with the same brush because of one rotten egg."

Harry could hear Mrs Weasley yelling the words right now.

"Anyway. She said you should have told her earlier so that she could have prepared properly and she said to tell you to make sure you're here before eleven so that _Draco_ can be introduced to everyone." He pulled a face as he said 'Draco', but despite that, Harry had to admit he was doing very well. He had accepted their relationship largely without drama, although he still had trouble using Malfoy's name in a polite sentence. Still, progress was progress.

Harry blinked down at him. "So, she wants us to come?"

Ron snorted. Then he seemed to fully comprehend Harry's words. His eyes bugged out of his head in alarm and he began to cough. "You weren't going to come?" he finally managed to say, still coughing. "Bloody hell. You've got a death wish."

Harry laughed. "Okay, we'll be there. But it will have to be at twelve. We've got to be somewhere at eleven."

Ron shrugged. "Fine, but you can explain that to mum when you get here. I've had enough of her yelling at me because of you."

Harry grinned. "Alright, we'll see you then."

Ron grinned. "See you then, mate."

Harry stood up and went to find Malfoy. A loud noise from Malfoy's bedroom led the way. Harry pushed open the door cautiously.

Malfoy's head whipped up at the noise of the door. He yelped and rushed at Harry. Before Harry could properly take in what was going on in the bedroom – although there was a large cloud of smoke covering everything – he had been pushed back out in the corridor.

"Learn to knock!" Malfoy snapped, slamming the door behind him.

Harry glared at him, hurt. "I didn't think there would be anything I'd need to knock for," he said pointedly, shoving Malfoy away from him. He stepped backward. "We're due at the Weasley's at twelve for lunch," he said, still walking backward. "And I've got something planned for us at eleven. So be ready by quarter to." He turned away and moved back to his bedroom.

"Harry," he heard Malfoy say behind him, but Harry kept walking. Harry knew Malfoy was depressed – he had every right to be – but Harry wished he would talk to Harry instead of secluding himself in his room doing god knows what and cracking it at Harry whenever they ran into each other.

Harry ran his hand through his hair, suddenly tired, and got changed and ready for bed.

The next morning he found Malfoy up and waiting for him at the kitchen table. Wordlessly, Malfoy passed him a cup of tea. Harry took it warily, but Malfoy seemed happy this morning. Or, if not entirely happy, at least not upset.

"Merry Christmas," Harry said, giving Malfoy a small smile.

"Merry Christmas," Malfoy said, suddenly bringing a hand around Harry's waist and pulling him in close for a kiss.

When they pulled apart several long, glorious seconds later, Harry's smile was considerably wider.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, several layers of meaning beneath the question. Are you feeling better? Are you ready to talk to me yet? Are we fine?

"Great," Malfoy said, leaning his forehead against Harry's and closing his eyes. "Are you going to tell me where we're going yet?"

Harry shook his head, their noses brushing slightly. "It's a surprise," he said.

"Damn," Malfoy said lightly.

Harry packed all his presents into a large basket, hoping he hadn't forgotten anyone's. He left Teddy's beneath the tree, ready for Teddy to find when he visited tomorrow. He picked up the basket and waited for Malfoy by the front door.

He was surprised to see Malfoy with a basket just as full. When he gave him an inquiring look, Malfoy just shrugged.

"I like Christmas," he said.

That admission just made Harry sadder and more grateful that he had persisted in his present for Malfoy.

He opened the front door and took Malfoy by the arm. A flying group of tin carollers flew up to them and launched into a high-pitched rendition of _Silent Night_. Malfoy batted them with his hand until they flew off to the next house, squealing indignantly as they went. Harry watched the light-hearted exasperation on Malfoy's face and felt suddenly nervous.

"It's not something that you're going to be suddenly ecstatic about," he warned Malfoy. "You might feel a range of emotions. Just be prepared."

Malfoy glanced at him curiously, but he didn't hesitate, grasping Harry's arm with his right hand and balancing his basket of presents on his left. Harry found Malfoy's trust in him almost sobering.

Harry shut the door and apparated them to Azkaban. When the cold walls of the interrogation room appeared around them, dripping and dank, he felt a sudden rush of trepidation. There was nothing Christmasy about this. This was a terrible present. It would only make Malfoy feel worse. Maybe he should have arranged for them to talk via Floo network instead.

"I'm sorry," he said uselessly as he felt Malfoy stiffen beside him. "It was the only place they would settle as a meeting room. There are no visitation rooms here."

He turned to Malfoy and saw his eyes were wide. He was rigid with tension. Harry gently reached out and took the basket from him before he dropped it.

"You might not appreciate it now," Harry said quietly. "But I thought, not knowing what might happen," he stopped himself, not wanting to make it worse by referring to the Kiss. Suddenly, this felt like a terrible idea. Malfoy liked Christmas. Maybe Malfoy had been hoping to pretend everything was fine, just for one day, and get caught up in the festivities. Maybe Harry had just destroyed that. "I hope I haven't ruined your Christmas mood," he finished lamely.

Malfoy grabbed Harry by the chin, effectively stopping him from speaking. "Harry," he said quietly, still staring straight ahead at the wooden table with two chairs, one on either side. "Sugar-coated presents are for people with sugar-coated lives." He turned to face him, his eyes shining. "This means everything to me. Thank you."

Harry felt his body relax, relief flooding through him. "I'm glad," he said, giving Malfoy a gentle kiss on the lips. "You have until twelve. I'll leave you to it."

Malfoy nodded and moved to the table. He looked as though he had barely even heard Harry. At that moment they brought Narcissa in. Flanked by two Dementors she looked cold and tired, but the Malfoy pride still shone through above all else.

Harry nodded to her and left for the corridor outside. He made himself as comfortable as possible on one of the wooden chairs down the corridor and settled down to wait.

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, Malfoy was shaking him awake. Harry sat up quickly, running his eyes over Malfoy, trying to assess if he was alright. He looked worn, but relaxed. Like a poison had been drained from his system.

"Let's go," he said, taking Harry's arm and smiling at him. It was a genuine smile with none of the forced emotion of the last few weeks.

They walked down the corridor to the foyer. You could apparate anywhere into the interrogation building, but you could only apparate from the main entrance, far away from the rooms. Malfoy apparated them away from Azkaban. Harry looked up, expecting to see the Burrow, but was surprised to see they were standing in a large meadow of freshly mown grass.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Near the Manor," Malfoy said. "I wanted to give you your present before we arrived at the Burrow, but I didn't want to give it to you at Azkaban." He reached into his basket and pulled out a small package, wrapped in red paper. As he handed it to Harry he looked almost contrite. "I need to apologise as well," he said. "It took longer than I thought it would, and it kept going wrong. You kept catching me working on it, and I'm afraid I've never really had to defend myself like that before, so I think I came across harsh." He had a puzzled look on his face. "I was only upset that you might see it early."

Harry laughed. "You mean, normally when you tell people to go away and leave you alone, they do?"

"Well, yeah," Malfoy said, his face still puzzled.

"Yeah, you're going to have to get used to that _not_ happening anymore," Harry said lightly, taking the present. "I don't take orders well. And boyfriends don't give orders."

Malfoy made a show of being disgruntled, but his eyes didn't leave the present. Harry could tell Malfoy was eager for him to open it. He began to peel off the paper with deliberate slowness, although he was more than curious what it could be.

The paper fell away to reveal a small glass orb, like a crystal ball. Harry frowned at it, wondering what it was. As he watched, the translucent centre changed to reveal a scene. He leaned closer and with a shock saw Sirius and James running across a roof. There was sound too, although it was quiet.

"I couldn't get it much louder," Malfoy said, sounding exasperated. "But if you're in a quiet room you can hear it well enough. Right now they're laughing. They're daring each other to leap further distances."

Harry stared down at the ball in wonder. "How did you do it?" he asked, breathless.

"I found a store of memories in the attic," Malfoy said quietly. "It seems that your dad and your godfather were collecting them for their children. There's a memory in there that sort of explains it. They wanted to show their children what they were like when they were younger. Show that they weren't just old and boring."

Harry felt another pang of sadness. Neither of them had been given the chance to grow old and boring.

"So I thought I would try using the Elder Wand and see if I could make some easier way of viewing them, because a Pensieve is kind of annoying. I barely looked at them, so they're still private. Do you like it?"

Harry looked up to see Malfoy watching him almost anxiously. Harry smiled.

"I love it," he said, leaning in for another kiss.

When Harry opened his eyes, they were at the Burrow. The second they reached the door, Ginny tore it open, her eyes gleaming as she dragged Harry and Malfoy into the centre of what was obviously a very disgruntled group of present-openers.

"Mum said we had to wait," Ron said sulkily.

"Don't be ridiculous," Mrs Weasley said, swooping down to give Harry and Malfoy a giant hug. "You opened your family presents so early you were still half asleep. Welcome Harry, dear. Draco." She smiled at them both and passed them a large parcel each.

Harry fumbled trying to balance the parcel and the basket, while Malfoy smoothly levitated both. With a whizzing sound, presents from Malfoy's basket distributed themselves across the room. There was a second of shocked silence. Harry caught Ron's eye and saw surprise and a little guilt.

Hermione broke the silence by lobbing a medium sized present straight at Malfoy's head. He caught it at the last second, and it was his turn to look surprised. Then there were presents flying everywhere as first Ginny and then everyone else joined in. Laughing, Harry caught his presents dextrously and distributed his own – the breakable ones a little more carefully.

Soon the flying presents were replaced with torn wrapping paper, and the room was filled with cries of delight as people opened gifts, or cries of horror as one of George's joke presents exploded with a bang or something sticky.

"Harry!" shrieked Hermione, opening Harry's gift to her. "I had no idea you saw me looking!"

Ron peered over at the gift, looking perturbed until Hermione opened his own gift to her and saw the beautiful silver necklace. Her shriek of delight temporarily deafened everyone in the room as she knocked Ron over with a flying tackle.

"Good one, Malfoy!" Ginny said, grinning as she opened his present to her. A brightly coloured ball whizzed upwards into the air, sending mini fireworks in its wake.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"It's a dessert ball," Malfoy said, watching and grinning as someone else opened theirs and a second brightly coloured ball joined the first. "They're filled with chocolate and sweets, but they only open after lunch and you have to chase them down and catch them."

A high pitched squealing had them all turning suddenly to George, who looked up with a guilty expression, a dessert ball held tightly in his hands. "They, er, don't appear to like being smashed into fireplaces," he said contemplatively. "Might just have to wait."

"Lunch is ready!" Mrs Weasley called.

Everyone dived to finish opening their presents before they had to go to the table. Malfoy held up a green scarf with a silver 'D' stitched carefully at each end and stared at it in astonishment. Across the room Harry saw Ron's expression of horror and burst out laughing.

"If I'd had more time I would have had a jumper ready, like Astoria's," Mrs Weasley insisted, giving Ron a glare as if it was his fault.

Harry grinned across at Astoria, who was already wearing her green and silver jumper proudly. She smiled back at him and clasped Ginny's hand. Ginny immediately drew Astoria into a one-armed hug and opened her final presents distractedly.

In the flurry of wrapping paper flying across the room, and dessert balls whizzing around in a show of sparks and noise, Harry strangely found himself remembering one of the first conversations he had ever had with Sirius. _The ones that love us never truly leave us._ He leaned back against Malfoy's chest and looked up at him, catching his face in one of the rare moments it was truly relaxed and free of tension. Malfoy looked down at him and smiled. Harry could feel Malfoy's heart beating against his back, strong and steady. _And you can always find them in here._

 


End file.
